


Putting Off the Armour

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of Bodie and Doyle's relationship before, during and after the episodes 'Wild Justice', 'Fugitive' and 'Involvement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putting Off the Armour

Cowley watched the waiter leave their table. "This is an unexpected pleasure."

"You're too modest," murmured Sir Charles Napier, serene in the confidence that this would be a luncheon to enjoy. George Cowley was a tried and tested adversary.

"Oh, aye?" Cowley's accent unconsciously broadened, as it still did when in the company of any of the treacle-voiced men who were the real power behind the throne. He glanced around to take in the full splendour of his discreetly expensive surroundings; few of the public would recognise any of the other diners. "In view of your choice of restaurant I trust the vexed question of CI5's budget won't be on the agenda," he added, tart in the knowledge that sitting opposite him, fastidiously dissecting his Dover sole, was the man with the ultimate responsibility for co-ordinating all the Intelligence-gathering services.

"It's always a pleasure to do business with you, George. Rest assured, there are no budgetary cuts in the offing. Quite the reverse, in fact. I'm offering your people an invaluable asset."

Cowley's air of gloom deepened before he gave an audible sigh and braced himself. "Tell me the worst," he invited with resignation.

 

As she waited to hand Cowley the agenda for the Joint Intelligence Committee Meeting he had been called on to attend, Betty gathered that his lunch with the chairman of that Committee had not gone well. Still trying to gauge his mood, she assumed an attentive expression.

"You'd imagine they would be able to think of something more useful to spend their money on," Cowley complained, as if she had spoken.

"Sir?" she prompted.

"What? Ah, sorry, Betty. I was thinking aloud. God save us from Whitehall mandarins."

"Yes, sir. They're not proposing to cut our budget again?" she asked with unfeigned dismay. The office staff were always the first to suffer.

Cowley gave a tight, humourless smile. "No, I doubt if they'll try that again in a hurry. I want to see Mason before I leave for Whitehall. I've a surveillance job for him. Like it or not, CI5 is to share the services of a Doctor Katherine Ross. Although what use she'll be to us remains to be seen. Can you imagine Anson or Stuart cooperating with her damn ink blots? And the likelihood of a clinician having experience with this kind of high-stress work..."

"Everyone will cooperate if you order them to, sir." Betty's sympathies were with the unknown doctor - and not just because a woman's lot was not always a happy one in CI5.

"You think it's a good idea?" Cowley eyed his secretary thoughtfully.

Unflustered, she took the time to collect her thoughts. "Given the amount of high-stress work agents do, yes, I think it's a very sensible idea. Everyone - particularly those on the A squad - needs someone who will look out for their interests. That means someone who's prepared to pull them off the streets for their own good, should it become necessary - no matter how inconvenient the timing."

"Are you suggesting I don't look after my people?" demanded Cowley, ruffled because what she said had touched a nerve.

"You do what you have to do," she said quietly, for once making no attempt to disguise the respect and affection she had for him. "Although whether that should include working yourself into the ground as you do is debatable."

Disconcerted, he fidgeted with the papers in front of him. "Be that as it may, I still maintain we don't need that damn woman trying to interfere with the way I run - " Breaking off what he was saying, Cowley's head rose, his eyes narrowing. "Wait a moment. Are you implying she's been appointed to oversee _me_?"

"It's what I would do if I were Sir Charles," Betty said, at her most prim.

"Would you, by God!" His glare mellowed into a reluctant, admiring smile. "You're a good girl, Betty. So would I," he conceded in a wry tone. "Well, we'll soon discover just how good Doctor Ross is. She can't be any worse than that idiot they foisted on us for the last six-monthly assessments. Stress? I could have taught the fluffy-headed ninny something about stress!"

As Betty remembered it, he had. "Doctor Keen did have a point, even if she went about making it in a way someone with more experience might have called unwise. Will this be Doctor Ross's first post?"

"No," admitted Cowley. "You think I'm over-reacting?"

"According to Mr Willis, I'm not paid to think," said Betty, at her most demure.

His mouth twitched. "Was that when you were stalling him on the phone yesterday?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, doesn't that tell you how lucky you are to be working for me? On second thoughts, don't answer that." He sank back in his chair. "So you think I'm over-reacting," he mused. He suspected it was true but various unhappy experiences had left him with a rooted distrust of doctors of any kind.

"Presumably whoever appointed Doctor Ross is satisfied that she's eminently suitable for the job," pointed out Betty with a trace of tartness, but as she had known it would, the point sailed over Cowley's head.

"I wish I shared your faith. I need to be certain she'll be of some use to CI5. God knows we'll be paying for the privilege. Money that could be better allocated elsewhere," said Cowley, his voice heavy with disapproval, not least at the waste of precious funds. "From what I've already heard of her plans, her proposals for the new physical and psychological assessments will keep some of my best operatives tied up for almost a week. They've enough demands made on them without having to endure whatever tests Doctor Ross decides are necessary."

"Yes, sir," soothed Betty.

Cowley gave her a sharp look, then grimaced and relaxed fully. "You can stop humouring me now," he said dryly, but he gave a genuine smile when she just beamed at him. "Still, I'm less likely to bite the Intelligence Co-ordinator when I see him again this afternoon. Is there any provision in our budget to find you an increase in pay?"

"As I remember, there isn't enough leeway to pay for a new packet of biscuits," she told him cheerfully. "I'll get Mr Mason for you." She hoped for Terry Mason's sake that Doctor Ross never discovered she was under surveillance.

oOo

As a matter of routine Cowley expected his operatives to keep themselves up-to-date with political and cultural events, even with the gossip columns if the subject was likely to interest CI5. While relying on Reuters and the other news-gathering agencies for up-to-the-minute news, including that which MI6 or the Foreign Office might have been expected to share with the other branches of the Intelligence service, squad members had to scan, if not read, all the national dailies and several of the duller periodicals. Ever mindful of CI5's budget, Cowley did not encourage his staff to seek reimbursement for such outlay. To their disgust, even creative accountants like Bodie and Anson were unable to make good the deficit.

Appalled by the size of their first newspaper bill, and the sheer volume of newsprint requiring their attention, it did not take Bodie and Doyle long before they decided to pool their resources and share the task. Over the years it had become a habit as ingrained as cleaning their guns and keeping themselves fit.

Taking advantage of the current lull to catch up with world events and recent sex-scandals, by mutual accord they were getting through the pile of newsprint while enjoying a relaxing pint in the sunny garden of an Essex pub.

Ploughing his way through ‘The Daily Telegraph’ without enthusiasm, Doyle peered over the top. "Haven't you finished that yet? ‘The Sun’ never takes me more than ten minutes - and that includes reading the small print in the adverts."

His attention on page three, Bodie gave no sign of having heard him.

"Oy!" A kick to the leg of Bodie's chair ensured that Doyle gained his attention.

"Sod off," said Bodie without looking up. "You lost the bet, so you get to check the heavies for a week."

Drawn from his appreciation of Sexy Susie's ample charms, he scanned the smudged newsprint, grateful that the newspaper's predilection for two-inch headlines cut down the amount he had to read. His expression sharpened as a five-line item buried at the bottom of the page caught his attention. Gary Hurst, aged 32, died in an explosion at Marberry Quarry, Bucks. Explosives experts... He re-read the scanty report, his eyes bleak. To survive Jordan, East Germany and Northern Ireland only to get blown apart in cosy Buckinghamshire. What had Gary been doing in civvy street anyway?

"Are you listening to me?"

Refocusing, Bodie discovered that his partner was staring at him. He offered a smile of bland condescension. "Of course I'm not. Here, you take ‘The Sun’ and I'll finish checking ‘The Telegraph’. You never have been much cop when it comes to dealing with the big words." He casually refolded the broadsheet so that he had an excuse to read it through from front to back. Doyle had already homed in on the splendours of Sexy Susie and her distracting pout.

"What have you got planned for tonight?" Bodie asked as he finished his pint.

"I'm taking Sally to that nightclub that's just opened off the Fulham Road. I thought we could have a drink or three, a bop around the dance floor and then home to bed. Or anywhere else that takes her fancy. She's an adventurous girl. How about you?"

"There's nothing adventurous about me, mate. Besides, I've seen you dance. You'd find more natural rhythm in one of ‘The Thunderbirds.’”

"I knew it, you fancy Lady Penelope," crowed Doyle.

"Nah, too many strings attached."

Doyle groaned.

"Anyway, I'm seeing Jennifer again tonight," Bodie continued, his expression growing intent as he found a more detailed report of Gary's death.

A fortnight ago it had been Keith; six weeks before him he'd heard that Blanco had bought it. Of course it could be coincidence but the three dead men were all from his old squad and three and a half years in CI5 had taught Bodie to mistrust coincidence.

"Two months with the same bird?" queried Doyle, raising his eyebrows. "She must be quite something to have put up with you all this time. She's a classy lady," he added remembering the only time he had met Jennifer Black.

"And she's spoken for, so hands off. You can look but you can't touch."

"My first girlfriend used to say that," mused Doyle with a pensive air. "Not that I took any notice. A few sweet nothings and she was putty in my - Can I ask you something?" He looked worryingly sombre.

"You can certainly ask," said Bodie, with a mixture of caution and warning. "But I'm telling you here and now, it'll take more than a few sweet nothings from you to con me."

Undeterred, Doyle pressed on. "Is it serious between you and Jennifer?"

"Of course it isn't," dismissed Bodie instinctively. "I mean, she's great but... The idea never occurred to me," he added, a look of mild apprehension on his face by now. "Blimey, I suppose we have been together for a while. I thought she understood it was just a... What d'you reckon I should do?"

"You're asking me - with my record?"

"True, but you're better than no one."

"There is that. It's a tricky one and no mistake. If Jennifer has got the hang of it, saying anything could be a big mistake. Birds can be funny about things like that. But if she hasn't..." Doyle shook his head. "Better safe than sorry." It didn't occur to him to question the relief he felt at the thought of Bodie and Jennifer Black parting company.

"Too right," said Bodie with feeling. "It's a shame though. I like Jennifer. She's not too clingy. Do you want another drink?"

Doyle hastily drained his glass and held it out. "Only if it's your round."

"That's what I like about you, mate. Your generous nature. What'll you have?"

"I wouldn't say no to that redhead over there."

Bodie allowed his gaze to wander. "I can see why."

They both winced when they saw the man mountain who was her escort, muscles threatening the shoulders of his poorly cut suit.

"I'll have a vodka and tonic to get over the disappointment," decided Doyle. "Ice and lemon. Well, go on. Don't stand there making the place look untidy." He squinted up at the man looming over him, Bodie - by intent - failing to block out the sun. "What are you waiting for?"

"Money," said Bodie succinctly. "I've just remembered, it isn't my round."

"Well, there's a thing. Fancy me forgetting."

"Fancy," agreed Bodie dryly. He clinked the change grudgingly deposited in his outstretched hand. "I'll need more than that."

With a show of reluctance Doyle dug in his pocket again, before carefully counting out his change. Bodie gave him a cuff around the ear and after a short scuffle appropriated his wallet. He removed a five pound note and headed into the public bar.

More alert than he had appeared, Doyle returned to page three of ‘The Sun’ and wondered what item had caught Bodie’s eye. Unable to place anything, he was successfully diverted from the hunt when Bodie returned to cast aspirations on his taste in women, having seen the face on the redhead who had caught his partner's interest.

 

oOo

 

"What are the pair of you cackling about?" asked Doyle as he went over to where Lucas and McCabe were sprawled on one of the sagging sofas in the rec room.

"Oh, hello, Ray. When did you get back?"

"About twenty minutes ago. Bodie's been typing up our report." Doyle helped himself from the open packet of biscuits on what passed for a coffee table.

"You've got him well trained," remarked Lucas lazily.

"Compared to your lot in life, I reckon I have," conceded Doyle, as he dodged the kick McCabe aimed in his direction. "So what's been going on while we've been enjoying the high life in darkest Somerset."

"You mean apart from the trouble with the Gents' loo on the ground floor?" asked Lucas with gloom.

"Have things been that bad?"

"Only for us. Stirling Moss here drove into the back of another car."

"Cowley not amused?" asked Doyle with something approaching sympathy.

"Not remotely. It was his car Mac backed into."

Doyle rapidly dissolved into incoherence and stayed that way for some time.

"That's right, tell everyone, why don't you," groused McCabe to his partner.

"I have now," said Lucas happily. "Well, except for Bodie and Doyle won't waste any time telling him. Be fair, Mac, you couldn't expect me not to share it. It doesn't get better than this."

"I suppose not," he said, leaving Doyle wondering whether the other man even had two brain cells to rub together.

"Where did this tragedy take place?" he asked.

"The CI5 car park," spluttered Lucas, before he started to laugh again.

"Anyone would think the pair of you never made any mistakes," complained the long-suffering and accident-prone McCabe.

"Compared to you we don't," retorted Doyle. "Nothing else of interest then?"

"Let's see. Anson's packed it in with that red-headed slapper he's been going round with. And the brunette. Word is, he's actually monogamous at the moment. In fact, some people are saying he must be in love. I don't believe it myself. Murph won two hundred quid on an outsider and is off sunning himself in Greece, and Stuart has a broken collar bone."

"Nothing very humorous in that lot - except the idea of Anson loving anyone but himself, of course," remarked Doyle. "These biscuits are revolting," he realised, tossing the half he had been nibbling onto the table.

"Why do you think we left them lying around?" asked McCabe reasonably.

"I should have thought of that," Doyle conceded.

"That's what comes of taking it easy for three weeks. No, the best story is a beauty," continued McCabe. "Have you heard that Cowley's got us another trick-cyclist? A woman again - a Doctor Kate Ross. Have you heard of her?"

"If you mean Katherine Anne Ross, age thirty one, marital status single, no children. Educated at Hereford Grammar School, where she was captain of the hockey team, followed by - "

"How the hell did you find out all this so soon?" demanded McCabe as he pushed himself up from the depths of the sofa.

Less gullible and more awake than his partner, Lucas lobbed a smelly cushion at Doyle, which he deflected with ease. "He's lying through his crooked teeth. It's obvious he hasn't see her - she's not the jolly hockey sticks type. Anyway, it seems Cowley decided to run a full security check on the doctor before taking her on strength. He put Mason onto it."

"Tom Mason?"

"You know him?"

"Sure. He's a good bloke," said Doyle with authority.

"Obviously not good enough. Doctor Ross presented Cowley with an itemised schedule of a man who had been - to quote her - stalking her."

"This is a joke, right?" checked Doyle, his eyebrows raised.

"I swear. Cowley's been going round with steam coming out of his ears for the last three days. Which was why he didn't appreciate being rear-ended. You and Bodie were well out of it."

"Out of what?" demanded Bodie as he came into the room and plonked himself down on the coffee table. Wasting no time, he picked up the packet of fig rolls and began to chew vigorously. "These are a bit of all right," he announced, with his mouth full. Having demolished four biscuits, he started in on the fifth.

"You can see how he came through all those survival courses the SAS runs, can't you," remarked Doyle dispassionately. "Caterpillars were probably an improvement on the stuff he usually eats."

"You do like to exaggerate," said Bodie, sighing as he checked the packet and confirmed that there were no biscuits hiding in the last section. "You ate like a king when you were out with me. Wood pigeon, rabbit and hedgehog. Funny that the hedgehog had you throwing up before you'd had more than a couple of mouthfuls, wasn't it," he added, all innocence.

"I had no objection to hedgehog. It was when you told me its staple diet was slugs, just after I'd swallowed my first mouthful, that did the damage. And don't think I've forgotten about that, either," Doyle warned him darkly.

"You do like to hold on to a grudge, don't you," remarked Bodie mildly.

"Right next to my heart," Doyle agreed cheerfully.

"And your wallet. Right, fill me in," Bodie commanded briskly. "Who was the new bird I bumped into when I was going into Cowley's office? Late twenties, short dark brown hair, brown eyes, nice legs. Name of Ross."

"Our new witch doctor," said Doyle.

Only he noticed how his partner's face became set in a meaningless grin. Bodie was silent for over a minute before he re-entered the conversation, but to anyone who knew him well the effort showed - and Doyle knew him very well indeed. Intending to follow up on that when they were alone, Doyle was side-tracked when he remembered he was due to have a reunion with his current girlfriend in forty minutes.

oOo

Only three of the more sensationally inclined dailies made anything of the murder of a biker at a meeting over the Bank Holiday. Bodie, who had been making an unprecedented effort to keep up-to-date with the news, had not only read the reports but had telephoned his friend on ‘The Daily Express’ to pick up any details which had not been printed. After that he had begun his own inquiries into Williams's murder.

Five of Bodie's old unit had died in as many months; all had been accorded verdicts of ‘death by misadventure'. One, even two, he would have accepted, but five... And all of them in safer lines of work than his own. Brooding over a mug of cold tea, he was busy marshalling his thoughts.

"There you are," exclaimed Doyle, exuding energy and bonhomie as he came into the room. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Right, let's be having you. I've got a cancellation for a squash court - it's ours from seven to eight-thirty this evening."

"Sorry, mate, something's come up. I can't make it."

"Work?" Doyle straightened.

"Private."

"Oh. Right. I'll see if anyone else wants a game. Unless - " His instinct for trouble stirring, Doyle hovered. "Is everything all right?"

Getting to his feet, Bodie gave him a reassuring grin. "Course it is. Except for these bloody assessments we're facing next week. I'll meet you down there, OK? Have a good game - or as good as it's going to get with you playing."

Doyle stuck two fingers up at him. "In your dreams." Instead of leaving, he loitered in the doorway, frowning slightly. "Don't forget, if you need a hand - with anything - " He allowed the nebulous offer to trail away.

"What it is with you, Ray? Can't you face the thought of spending an evening without me?" As Bodie had intended, Doyle left soon afterwards, although not before he had made a couple of pithy observations about his partner's mental state.

oOo

Highly relieved to get shot of him, Doyle showed Cowley out of his flat and leant back against his front door with an audible sigh. Asked to select three agents for a Grade A assignment, he had dropped his partner right in it by excluding him.

Just as Bodie was doing to him.

In the last few weeks they seemed to have drifted further and further apart. Nothing he could put his size nine boot on, but enough to make him edgy. He resented feeling this way. Resented not being able to relax and enjoy the week of assessments which, while they might be on the strenuous side, were more like a holiday than the real thing.

Realising he was in danger of being late for Sally yet again, he scooped up his car keys, gave his bow tie a final uneasy tweak and then paused beside the telephone, fighting the urge to ring his partner.

When he gave in and called, there was no answer. Bodie was obviously out enjoying himself.

oOo

"What's wrong with Bodie these days?" inquired Turner. He slid a mug of tea across the table in front of his visitor as Doyle entered the command post situated in the attic.

While Doyle had never known a moment's hesitation about telling his partner what he thought of any of his acts or omissions, not to mention his taste in women, clothes, football teams and cars, he had always reserved that right for his exclusive use.

"Nothing's wrong with Bodie," he said, his flat certainty daring Turner to contradict him.

"Come off it, Ray. We've all got eyes," said Turner, spraying crumbs from his Rich Tea biscuit as he spoke.

"Then try using them. Bodie's still one of the best blokes on the squad." Some looks spoke - Doyle's bared its teeth. Turner ignored the warning.

"Despite ‘still' and only ‘one of'," he picked up knowingly.

Opening his mouth to put the other man in his place, Doyle's shoulders slumped as he thought the better of what he had been about to say. Hauling off his headband, he massaged his sweat-clumped curls.

"I'm the other one," he said, knowing that didn't address the question put to him.

Turner gave him a dispassionate once-over. "Maybe you are," he allowed grudgingly, "but I'm not so sure about Bodie any more. And don't blow a gasket. If he wasn't your partner, you'd be saying the same thing. I just wanted to mention it before someone else does. If I've noticed while I'm stuck up here watching you lot go through your paces," he gestured to the console of TV monitors, "you can bet Jack Crane, Hedley and Doctor Ross have. Which means the Old Man certainly knows. You and Bodie better have a story ready for him."

Remembering how Cowley had visited his flat the previous evening, an event usually associated with notifications of death or serious injury, Doyle gave a weighty sigh. He felt like Judas. "Yeah, I know. And I'm working on one for him."

"Without much help from Bodie," noted Turner shrewdly.

"Thanks for the tea, mate," said Doyle, as if he had not heard. He left his untouched mug behind him as he wandered off to track down his partner. When he failed to locate him it became obvious Bodie was determined not to be found.

 

Sitting next to Kate Ross as they continued to watch the watchers in the monitor room - a piece of double think on the doctor's part which had won Cowley's grudging approval - he sighed.

"As I reported several weeks ago, the unit comprising 3.7 and 4.5 is continuing to experience problems," said Doctor Ross as she glanced up from the notes she was making.

"So you say," Cowley grunted.

"Supported by the results of my tests to date," she continued, refusing to back down an inch.

Meeting her steady gaze, Cowley's expression slowly relaxed. "Aye, supported by your tests," he allowed heavily. "You'd best continue to monitor 3.7 and 4.5." This room might be paying dividends as off-guard agents wandered in for a gossip with Turner, who was on light duties after breaking his leg a week ago, but he did not enjoy spying on his own people. It was a piece of squeamishness which he was irritably aware had given the doctor some quiet amusement. Not that she should have been able to pick up on it in the first place, of course.

 

oOo

 

Most of Doyle's worries were dispelled when he watched the zest with which Bodie attacked the cross-country run and obstacle course. When Bodie zipped through the final recognition tests with Kate Ross, it just confirmed to Doyle that he was getting paranoid. All the same, it was a relief to hear that they had both got the all-clear - Doctor Ross or no Doctor Ross.

That was before it all went pear-shaped.

oOo

Standing in the pub forecourt, Doyle gingerly rubbed his still sore belly as he watched Cowley drive off. There had been moments over the last twelve hours when he had been both frightened for and by Bodie. Not to mention Cowley. If Bodie had broken Billy's neck...

But he hadn't. Hold on to that. He hadn't.

Doyle glanced at the man at his side. Now the adrenalin had drained away Bodie's shoulders were hunched against the fatigue that had stolen away his colour - not that he ever had much. Whatever emotions had spurred him on looked as if they had drained away. Perhaps they'd been purged by King Billy's arrest. Doyle didn't know. He didn't care if it meant he had his partner back. At least he looked like himself again instead of a driven, darkly dangerous stranger called Bodie.

This recent loss of certainty about a man he had taken for granted had severely dented Doyle's sense of security and he didn't like the feeling at all. In this dog eat dog world you needed to know there was someone you could trust without question or equivocation. Worse, it was slowly dawning on him that Bodie had done all he could to exclude the one person he might reasonably have expected to back him.

"Ray?"

Slow to mask his resentment at this shaking of all his certainties, Doyle swung back to his partner. "I've got to sort things out with Sally, then take the Suzuki back to town. You'd better come with us."

Bodie opened his mouth, recognised the other man's expression and visibly thought the better of it. "Fine," he said, parting his hands in a gesture of conciliation. He had the feeling he would be doing a lot of that in the days to come. Ray wasn't known for turning the other cheek.

The journey back to London was conducted in silence. Sally had already given vent to her feelings at being dumped and was frankly sulking even before Doyle got the 4 x 4 underway, with his filthy trail bike firmly strapped to the trailer. Bodie made himself as inconspicuous as possible to give the love-birds the illusion of privacy, but it soon became apparent that their only desire was to be shot of one another as quickly as possible. Watching Sally stalk into the over-priced maisonette she shared with three other girls, it occurred to Bodie that, on top of everything else, he had cost Ray his girlfriend. Not that she had been the love of his life, but even so.

Recent events seemed like some badly-made film rather than a part of his own life. Now it was over he felt flat, tired and depressed about his career prospects. Cowley's disapproval was like a suffocating weight; and from the glances Ray had been shooting at him since they left the wood, Bodie didn't want to think about the damage he might have caused to their partnership.

As they waited for a set of traffic lights to change, Bodie took in his surroundings and realised that they would be at his place within a couple of minutes. He would have liked to be able to invite Ray in to share a take away and a few beers in front of the box. Mend a few fences. He shot a glance at Doyle and felt his heart sink. If Ray's expression was any indication, mending fences was a non-starter. Worse, Ray looked - odd - a pinched, unhappy droop to his mouth. Now he thought about it, Doyle had been looking like he'd just had his most prized possession stolen even before Sally had given him the elbow.

"I couldn't tell you what was going on," Bodie blurted out as Doyle found a parking space fifty yards down from his flat.

"So I gathered. Why not?"

Bodie stared through the fly-smeared windscreen. How to explain what he couldn't explain, even to himself - not in words. He fumbled around for some way to get started, discarding the clumsy phrases which were all that came to mind.

"Well?" demanded Doyle. "Oh, forget it!" He pulled on the handbrake with a venom which rocked the body of the sturdy vehicle.

"Do you know how many of my old unit have died in ‘safe' jobs? Well, while they were on civvy street. Then Williams was murdered." Bodie stopped.

"So?" Doyle didn't give an inch.

"So you were all I had left. I wasn't about to risk you. Besides, Billy-boy was all piss and wind."

"That's it, is it?"

"Ray?"

"Don't you ‘Ray' me, you bastard. I thought we were bloody well partners. What happened to trust?"

It was only then that Bodie realised Doyle's anger was intended to conceal his sense of hurt. And hurt was the last thing Bodie had intended in his determination to keep Ray safe.

"I trust you," he said instantly, holding that stormy gaze and refusing to release it.

Unable to sustain the intensity of that stare, Doyle scowled at the steering wheel.

"Look, I don't have so many friends that I have any to spare," said Bodie in a low voice. "Besides, you're more than a mate. Anyway, I wasn't thinking straight by the end. I really lost it for a while."

"Well that's certainly true. What makes you so sure you've got it back?" added Doyle, but there was less bite in his voice.

His head against the seat back, Bodie closed his eyes. "The last thing I am is sure. But I think I must have because it didn't occur to me that anything might be wrong before. It sort of crept up on me with each report of a death. I never intended to... I didn't know how to talk about it. All I knew was that I had to do something for them. It just seemed so...unfair. They deserved better."

Doyle rubbed his nose on the back of his hand. "Most people do," he pointed out, but his voice was gentle. "Still, if what's been going on is any indication, it strikes me that any mate of yours stands an above- average chance of getting a better deal. Is it me, or do I stink as much as you?" he added, flippant because he was afraid he was already teetering on the brink of sentimentality.

Bodie kept a tactful silence. "Riding round that race-track must've been warm work. Come in and have a shower at my place. I'm bound to have some of your kit lying around."

Obviously tempted, Doyle shook his head. "If I leave the bike out here it'll be nicked for sure. Besides, I should get the Suzuki back. To the rental agency," he prompted when Bodie looked blank.

"I'd forgotten about that. I'll stand another night's rental. The bike can come round the back and sit on the bit of concrete that makes mine a garden flat."

"What about Doctor Ross?"

Bodie opened his eyes to their fullest extent. Even that couldn't make him look innocent. "You reckon she's good for a threesome? With us?"

Doyle grinned despite himself. "With you, possibly. She didn't take to me at all."

"She's probably sublimating her feelings," consoled Bodie.

"Yeah? Hold on to that thought. It's more likely because she seemed to know what I was thinking before I'd worked it out for myself. But she's supposed to be here for our benefit. We've heard that before, I know, but she can't be a total waste of space or she wouldn't have put the Old Man on to what was happening so fast. Faster than me," Doyle added, as guilt set in.

"Pillock," said Bodie roughly.

Doyle shrugged. "Probably. But I should have spotted that something was wrong. I mean, it wasn't exactly sudden. You saw the first murder reported ages ago."

"I didn't notice what was happening to me, so why should you?" Bodie pointed out reasonably.

"In the circumstances you'd be the last to know, mate. I still reckon you should go and see Kate Ross. Have a chat. About anything. Everything. Whatever. Just talk to her. I'll come too, if you like."

Bodie stared at him. "You what?"

"Why not? I mean, it's a partnership thing. Sort of," Doyle defended, when Bodie looked sceptical.

"You want me to see her again - voluntarily?"

"Do you really think Cowley's going to put you to work tomorrow after that little scene in the woods?"

Bodie ignored that uncomfortable question. "You'll back me?"

"If I must." Doyle's long-suffering tone was designed to show he wasn't a push-over.

Bodie's expression visibly relaxed. "Well, you can't say fairer than that. Come on, I'll give you a hand to unload the bike."

 

Tired after an eventful day full of emotional peaks, it was a relief to slump on to Bodie's sofa with a take away and watch a stream of programmes pass in front of their eyes without caring what they might be. Each television channel closed for the night and still Doyle hung on. He was unwilling to leave in case by tomorrow things had slipped backwards. And he was enjoying having Bodie back too much to be willing to allow that to happen.

"It's pissing with rain again. Why don't you stop the night?" suggested Bodie casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to think of protecting Doyle from a summer shower.

Doyle accepted the excuse without blinking. "What do I sleep on?"

"Well, I'd recommend the mattress, but you're welcome to the floor if you'd rather."

"Where will you be sleeping?"

"On the mattress next to you, of course."

Doyle hardly missed a beat. "I'll take the left-hand side."

"You'll take what you're given," Bodie told him, trenchant to disguise his relief that he wouldn't be alone tonight. There was something very comforting about having Doyle around. Strange that he'd never thought about it before. Taking Ray for granted, the way you did with friends - until they weren't there any more.

"Take what I'm given, eh?"

"That's right," said Bodie, trying to anticipate his partner's next move.

Doyle just grinned and launched himself from the sofa.

During the ensuing scrap they broke one mug, a vase an ex-girlfriend had left behind and collected a few bruises. They had also lost any lingering resentment or constraint with one another. Shoulder to shoulder, they lay on their backs on the carpet, panting contentedly.

"Did you know you've got cobwebs across your ceiling?" inquired Doyle after some time had passed.

"Not unless you hum it. I'll have to move that bookcase to hide the water stain on the wall," added Bodie who, while neat about his person and flat, was not fanatical about it.

"I'll help - in the morning," promised Doyle. Getting to his feet, he extended his hand.

Bodie stared up at it. "I'm not geriatric, you know," he said, but he had the sense to take the proffered help. He was mildly disconcerted when he ended up nose to nose with his partner.

"True. At least I can't see any wrinkles yet," said Doyle, brushing the corner of Bodie's eye with the side of his thumb in an oddly intimate gesture. Before the other man could react, Doyle stepped back and headed out of the room, muttering something about needing to take a leak.

 

 

Wasting little time in falling asleep, a car backfiring in the street below woke Doyle just as it was getting light. For a moment he couldn't place his surroundings. It was damn hot, he knew that much. When he identified the source of the heat pressed against him and what was twitching against his backside the blood began to thump in his ears.

The randy bugger, he thought affectionately, staying where he was because he was already on the edge of the mattress. It seemed far less embarrassing just to ignore what was happening.

Except he couldn't ignore it, waves of heat pouring from Bodie and onto him. Or maybe it was the other way round.

Christ, but Bodie felt big. And hot. And -

Forbidden. So his hard-on would just have to go away again.

"Sorry about this," muttered Bodie, his voice making Doyle jump. "Pretend I'm not here." He was already easing away.

"Like I always wake up with an ownerless hard-on shoved up against my arse," agreed Doyle, tart because he was fighting the urge to move - preferably rhythmically and backwards. He could still feel the warm imprint where Bodie had rested against him.

The phantom cock... Make a good name for a pub, that would.

"Now he tells me," said Bodie, before he began to laugh.

"I'm glad you think this is funny," began Doyle, but he was already grinning into the pillow.

"It must be hysteria," said Bodie, turning onto his stomach with some care.

"No, that's my excuse."

Bodie ventured to turn his head. While Doyle was not facing him, the muscles down his back were as relaxed as his voice.

"I suppose it could be," he conceded wryly. He gave a small sigh. "While my timing could be better, I must admit it's a relief as far as I'm concerned. I've been having a bit of a problem during the last two or three weeks. With....you know." He wasn't given the chance to feel self-conscious.

"Of course I know. You're not the only bloke it's ever happened to."

"Has it ever happened to you?" asked Bodie, side-tracked by the always fascinating subject of Doyle's sex drive and life.

"No, but I've been told it can happen to anyone."

It was a moment before Bodie caught up with just how normal everything was. "Rotten bugger," he said, leaning across to swipe the chestnut curls.

"Still, this little inconvenience of yours - "

"Little?"

" - medium-sized inconvenience - goes to confirm that you probably are OK." Beneath the casual teasing there was an immense satisfaction in Doyle's voice.

"Mmn," agreed Bodie, who was concentrating on not thinking about his partner's backside.

"Can you see what time it is?" asked Doyle.

"Not time for me to see Doctor Ross," replied Bodie in a muffled voice, wondering if he would have to resort to chewing the pillow. Every time he thought he'd regained control he'd get a warm waft of Doyle.

"Good. Then go back to sleep. And no jiggling the mattress," Doyle ordered sternly. "If you need a wank you can go to the bathroom for one."

"Spoilsport."

"Damn right I am."

"What about you?" asked Bodie a few seconds later.

Sweating profusely, and with his back still to his partner, Doyle maintained a lofty silence. He dared not count sheep in case he started to shag them.

The ache went away, after a while.

He fell asleep just in time to be woken by the alarm; given what he had been dreaming about that was something of a relief, although he couldn't understand why a flock of sheep should have been watching them.

oOo

Kate Ross studied the two men sitting on the other side of the desk; their unease and distrust were poorly camouflaged by a mixture of flippancy and belligerence. Perfume from the roses growing outside drifted through the open window of her office. They had arrived promptly at 9:15 and the first thing Doyle had done on entering the room had been to check what lay outside the window. Satisfying himself that nothing said in this office could be overheard by anything other than the tape recorder she had set up on her desk, he had given his partner a small nod. Both men had seated themselves. While they had remained silent, Doyle was fidgeting where he sat and she knew he would be the first to talk.

"How come you were able to see us so quickly? We didn't have an appointment," he demanded a little time later.

"Serendipity."

Doyle frowned. "That's one way of looking at it. You were expecting us."

"It was the logical step for you to take, given the events of the last twenty hours. If you hadn't come to see me of your own free will, Mr Cowley would have ordered Bodie here."

"Did you expect both of us to turn up?"

"Yes."

"Am I so predictable?"

Doctor Ross gave the faintest of smiles as she sat back in her chair, her linked hands relaxed on her lap. "Predictability isn't always a negative quality."

"It can be in our line of work," retorted Doyle. "Shouldn't you be taping this conversation?"

"Not until the session starts. What made you decide to accompany Bodie?"

"I told Ray none of this was his fault," cut in Bodie, warmth pressed from his voice by nerves.

"And what does he say?" asked Doctor Ross.

"That he's capable of talking for himself," snapped Doyle.

"That's never been in doubt. It would be helpful if you could remember Bodie shares that ability," she added, surprising a faint grin from Bodie and a scowl from his partner. "It would be more useful if, initially, I could speak with you each alone."

Doyle turned to look at his partner. After a moment Bodie gave a quick nod, before he stared out of the window again.

Continuing to watch the other man for a moment longer, Doyle's look of unease increased before he stared at Kate Ross, as if daring her to say anything. Projecting the full force of his personality, his unblinking, inimical, clear-eyed stare bored into her, intimidating of intent.

Her expression unchanged, Doctor Ross conceded that this was a timely reminder of how much she still had to learn about the agents who made up CI5.

"Which of us do you want to see first?" asked Bodie, breaking the silence. There was a trace of disdain in his gaze.

Oh, these men, she thought with resignation. Why did they find it so difficult to take off their protective armour and talk - even to each other?

"Doyle this morning. I should like to see you, Bodie, at two o'clock."

He nodded. "I'll be here. Look after the golly," he added as he got to his feet. He left the room without a backward glance, his relief to be going obvious.

As the door shut behind him Doyle tried to look as if he wouldn't rather be anywhere else. Doctor Ross activated the tape recorder, reciting the date and time and the number from Doyle's personal file.

"What made you decide to accompany Bodie here?" she asked him.

"I'm his partner. The problem affects - affected - our partnership."

"What problem?"

He gave her a look of open dislike. "See, this is what I really hate about you people. The problem was that Bodie lost touch with his old mates from the SAS. Then they started dying and he didn't get to hear about it until they were worms' meat. It can't be normal for that many young, fit blokes to die in civvy street," he added, the unspoken question hovering.

"I would have thought that would depend on their chosen lifestyle and choice of career. Statistically some forms of employment carry a far higher risk of death or injury."

"I got that far," said Doyle sulkily.

"I think that's as far as it goes," she told him.

"So do I. Bodie didn't see it that way," Doyle added a moment later.

She gave him a measured look. "Do you believe he would have murdered King Billy if Mr Cowley hadn't intervened?"

Doyle didn't twitch; he didn't even blink. "Probably," he said with a betraying tightness to his voice. It was the truth because he had already realised that nothing but the truth would serve here.

Kate Ross noted that indication of how worried Doyle was. Had been, she amended to herself. "And how do you feel about that?"

"Cowley doesn't employ us to have feelings," he countered.

"I've detected no signs of any lack of them amongst the agents I've met. Do you feel Bodie was justified in the actions he took?" she pursued steadily.

"Justified?" returned Doyle.

And so it went on.

 

When he emerged from the building Doyle ignored the car in the car park and left the hospital grounds to walk to the pub further down the road. Funny how often they put a pub close to a hospital, he mused, ready to collect those mourning, celebrating or just in shock.

Bodie sat outside the front of the pub under one of the striped Martini table umbrellas. A barely-touched pint sat in front of him. He looked up as his partner approached in silence.

"Game, set and match to Doctor Ross," said Doyle with gloom, as he ran a hand back through his hair. "I dunno how she does it, but I turn into some kind of performing flea when I'm with her."

The image drew a faint smile from Bodie. "The secret with performing fleas is to synchronise your commands with their hops. Does she want to see you again?"

Doyle nodded. "Tomorrow morning."

"You don't have to put yourself through this, you know."

Turning slightly, his boot heel scraping the gravel, Doyle squinted against the glare of the sun. "Yes, I do. I'll get you another drink - something long and cool - and some lunch. You always think best on a full stomach. Put that away," he added as Bodie reached inside his jacket for his wallet.

"You think I need to save my money for a long period of unemployment, is that it?" Bodie inquired.

"No, I think you're going to need it for tomorrow's lunch. According to the blackboard it's going to be fresh salmon, and I'm partial to that."

Returning with two pints of St Clements, crusty bread, crumbly cheese, homemade pickle and an appetizing-looking salad, Doyle unloaded the tray, then frowned.

"What's up? Seen a caterpillar on the lettuce?" asked Bodie, not allowing the idea to put him off his food as he crunched a leaf with gusto.

"Nah, just wondering whether you wanted any of those giant pickled onions. That way you could breathe across the desk and knock out Kate Ross from ten paces."

His grin genuine this time, Bodie shook his head. "I couldn't do that to a lady," he said in a pious tone. "I save eating them for the times when we're stuck in the car on a stakeout."

 

Bodie arrived at Kate Ross's office promptly at two o'clock, his shirt front still damp from his only half-successful attempts to remove the pickle stain gained when Doyle had flicked a forkful at him with the unerring accuracy of a CI5 marksman. It was unfortunate about the elderly gentleman sitting behind Bodie, who had suffered the fallout as the missile separated after take-off, but it had only cost Doyle ten quid to calm him down.

oOo

With the uneasy feeling that he had been out-manoeuvred, Cowley reviewed Kate Ross's progress during that affair with Bodie and the bikers. She had succeeded in antagonising virtually everyone, including the hard-to-ruffle Jack Crane. She had annoyed Cowley, too. Unfortunately, she had also identified a potential problem before anyone else - including himself. More, she had offered some penetrating insights into Bodie's state of mind throughout the crisis - not to mention Doyle's.

To hear that pair they wouldn't give Doctor Ross the time of day. Yet that hadn't stopped Bodie from going to her for help. It was true that Cowley had intended to order him to go and see her, but it boded well if Bodie had gone there of his own free will. Or Doyle's, Cowley amended realistically. Still, she had done well to have won their trust so fast. Although it was a damn nuisance having to keep them both off the streets until she had finished with them. True, she had finished with Doyle, but according to her the psychological affect on Bodie of watching his partner return to full duty without him would have been counter-productive.

Counter-productive, thought Cowley with a derisive snort. Though she was right, even if he wouldn't have worded it like that.

Despite these small successes she was too officious - and not above telling him where he was going wrong. Only his realisation that the Intelligence Co-ordinator had expected fireworks, and a determination to disappoint him, had kept Cowley going for the first few weeks. Doctor Ross's three month probationary period expired next Thursday. Sighing, he finally admitted that he had no alternative; she was too useful for him to be able to get rid of her just yet.

oOo

Satisfied that the remainder of his agents, some of whom were still emerging from the cover skirting the edges of the runway, had matters under control, Cowley placed Anson in charge of the clear-up operation. Wiping a smear of Christina's blood from his hand as he began the walk back to his car, Cowley wondered what had become of his star performers.

Rounding the nose of the plane, he discovered them to be closer at hand than he had supposed. Doyle reholstered his Smith & Wesson, all his attention seeming to be given to checking a rough patch on the leather inside the holster. Bodie was simply standing motionless, hands hanging limply at his sides while he watched the last vestiges of smoke dissipate in the light south-west breeze which had sprung up. Bodie's lack of expression told Cowley everything - and nothing. Remaining as still as the most devoted of bird watchers, he watched the younger man raise a hand to the back of his neck, as if he still expected to find something there; Bodie's pallor was the only outward indication that he was aware of his narrow escape.

Cowley was not surprised that his prime miscreant should be subdued. Fifteen pounds of explosive strapped around your neck, ready to be activated by a terrorist by remote control at any moment, would have a sobering effect on anyone, making the Ancient Mariner's plight seem negligible in comparison. Bodie would get over it; he had been through far worse. He had emerged from this with nothing more than a few bruises.

Continuing to study the two men, Cowley watched Doyle abandon his charade of uninterest in his partner's welfare as he went to Bodie's side, standing so close that their bodies were brushing. Bodie gave no sign of hearing whatever was said to him. Shaking his head tolerantly, Doyle removed a small piece of strapping from where it was caught under the collar of the other man's jacket before he gave his partner a friendly nudge. Refocusing, Bodie stared at him, then gave the faintest of grins. Doyle's only reaction was to brush away the dried grass which clung to Bodie's shirt, but something in his body language spoke of his total concentration on the task and the man for whom he was performing it. Then, as if sensing they were under surveillance, Doyle turned his head and saw Cowley. Scowling, he slipped on a pair of sun-glasses, immediately presenting an uninformative and faintly intimidating face to the world, before he deliberately turned his back on the Scot. Cowley knew it was no accident that Doyle's change of position sheltered Bodie from sight.

Suppressing an appreciative grin at that unsubtle snub, Cowley nodded to himself. No one listening to Doyle after the news that Bodie had been taken hostage broke would have known he felt more than the fleeting concern given to the plight of a stranger. Doyle's manner had drawn acid comments from some of the newer squad members - the people who knew him least. But then Doyle had never been easy to read; even he had difficulty on occasion.

The teaming of two such disparate characters as Bodie and Doyle had long since vindicated his initial hunch; their talents and personalities had merged more successfully than even he had anticipated. Perhaps one day Kate Ross would admit as much, Cowley mused ruefully. Thoughts of the doctor made him vaguely irritable because he had just lost another argument with her. Although she, too, served an important role within CI5, providing a vital counter-balance to complacency - or so Brian maintained. He, of course, had learned about complacency the hard way.

Realising he was guilty of wasting time day-dreaming, Cowley shrugged aside his thoughts of Brian Macklin. Despite a certain slackness on Doyle's part during that melodramatic shoot-out he and Bodie had staged in the car park, the pair of them had done well. Waving away the agent approaching him, Cowley went to tell them so. Amused, he noted that Doyle - more cynical in many ways than Bodie - was waiting for the pill to follow the sugar.

"Relax, 4.5," he said easily. "The pair of you have three days' leave. I'm away back to town, if you want a lift."

Doyle's attention moved beyond Cowley, to where various cars and vans could be seen driving off, leaving only the clear-up team to liaise with the police, Scene-of-Crime officers and mortuary officials.

"It's that or walk," he said ungratefully, stalking off in the direction of Cowley's red Ghia. A pheasant shot up from a tangle of gorse; slow to relax, Doyle's hand fell away from his holster.

Cowley looked thoughtful, and made a mental note to pay more attention to what Dr Ross told him. Perhaps he should have given them a week's leave after all? No point in spoiling them, he rationalised. Besides, it was probable he would need their services for the Rashid surveillance. The team he currently had on the job weren't cutting the mustard; one more cock-up and he would have them off the A Squad.

Looking underwhelmed by the praise he had received, Bodie trailed behind the two other men and slid on to the back seat next to Doyle. While there was plenty of room, Bodie sat so close that they ended up thigh to thigh. Though the day was a warm one, neither man withdrew from the intimacy, as if the contact provided an obscure comfort.

Setting the car underway, Cowley took no notice of his passengers. For once he had the leisure to relish the rare luxury of having time to drive himself, and at a pace which would enable him to enjoy the summer's day. Swinging the car out of the disused airfield, it occurred to him that if no emergency came up he might have time for a round of golf this afternoon. But first things first.

His voice dry as aloes, he took Bodie's report. Disregarding the warning in the younger man's monosyllabic replies, Cowley probed deeper, compelling Bodie to pile detail upon detail so he could mentally sift through the minutiae. Horror mutated into tedium for Bodie each time he was made to repeat himself. It was a common ploy when debriefing agents, helping them to cope with the stresses they faced every day.

Satisfied, Cowley noted that some of the tight note of strain in Bodie's voice had eased.

"It's a relief to have confirmation that Christina was Werner's only sleeper," Cowley remarked with satisfaction. "That will do for now, 3.7. You can leave your written report until you're back on duty."

Bodie raised a surprised eyebrow. Seventy-two hours' grace. The Old Man must be sickening for something.

"Right, sir. Remind me to thank the lads for the lack of backchat over the R/Ts," he added lazily. "It could have got very messy otherwise."

Cowley gave an amused snort of acknowledgement, satisfied that Bodie was himself again, and settled back to enjoy his drive.

Relaxing fully only when he was certain he was no longer the focus of Cowley's less-than-benign attention and already beginning to put events of the last few hours firmly behind him, it occurred to Bodie that Doyle had been unusually quiet during his debriefing. Ray had even missed the opportunity to make a couple of digs at his expense. He gave his partner a prompting nudge with his elbow.

"I said, it could have got very messy."

"I heard you," said Doyle, his voice harsh and flat. "You're right, it would have been most distressing." His face was turned to the passing scenery, the car window reflecting back only his severe, sun-glassed profile.

Probably half-asleep, decided Bodie wisely. That being the case, he knew better than to expect any decent conversation. Leaving the other man to doze while he could, because experience had taught Bodie that they could place little reliance on Cowley's promise of leave, he idly made conversation with their chauffeur. Even Cowley failed him, allowing the chit-chat to fade away.

As they approached the outskirts of London, inevitably their progress slowed. Taking advantage of the hold-up, which looked as if it might be a lengthy one, Cowley leaned forward and slipped a cassette into the tape deck.

Expecting to hear the stumbled report of some luckless agent, Bodie pulled a face when a familiar piece of music issued from the speakers behind him. It was bad enough to have to put up with it in Doyle's flat, but to be stuck with it in the car was enough to turn a bloke teetotal.

"Oh, no," he breathed, taking care that his protest should be just loud enough to be audible.

"You don't care for Pachebel, 3.7?"

"It's a bit dirge-like for my taste, sir. Besides, I already know this piece backwards." Bodie's sense of grievance was growing by the second.

"Oh?" remarked Cowley. "I wouldn't have thought Pachebel was to your taste." He had assumed he knew all there was to know about Bodie's taste in music - amongst other things.

Confident that in some matters Cowley was not as well-informed as he supposed, Bodie's expression was innocence personified.

"It isn't. It's Ray's, but even he has the decency not to play it at this time of day."

"You're at liberty to make your own way back to headquarters," Cowley pointed out dryly.

"Yes, sir." His tone one of injured pathos, Bodie resigned himself to the inevitable. With this amount of traffic they would be stuck in the car for a good hour yet and public transport had never appealed. Not that there was much, this side of the river. He consoled himself with the thought that at least the torture was almost over. If Cowley's recording was the same one as Doyle's the next piece bopped along OK.

To Bodie's disgust, Cowley rewound the tape, offering the acidic aside that perhaps it would be possible to listen to it without interruption this time.

Giving a hard-done-by sigh, Bodie sought some diversion and glanced at the man beside him when he felt Doyle move. The car's speed reduced from five miles an hour to a total standstill, and the music droning on around him, Bodie closed his eyes. The shaking next to him continued.

Cowley getting the better of me isn't that funny - or unusual, he thought, aggrieved as he opened his eyes. His fledgling look of menace dissolved into disbelief. It wasn't laughter that was making Doyle shake but stress, if his yellow-knuckled hands were any indication.

Taking advantage of Cowley's preoccupation with the combination of London traffic and the music, Bodie moved until his mouth was virtually brushing Doyle's ear.

"What's up, sunshine?" he asked, his voice pitched too low to carry to the man in the driving seat.

Doyle's averted face failed to hide the fact that every muscle and sinew in his cheek, jaw and throat were starkly defined; sweat gleamed high on his temples. Bodie frowned in puzzlement as the tremors continued to shiver through the man next to him, and himself because they were in such close proximity. If he didn't know better he would say Ray was in shock.

"What is it, mate?" he pursued.

Humiliated by his body's betrayal at a time when even Bodie could not fail to notice, Doyle shook his head. But it was impossible to block out the persistent images from his mind's eye: the blood-soaked ground, scorched grass and the headless corpse that was still twitching by the time he reached Bodie - too late to save him.

"Nothing."

"Come off it," scoffed Bodie, relying on the tried and tested technique of irritating his partner to do the trick.

"It's nothing," Doyle repeated with more bite.

"Give me a break."

"Just lay off, will you." Doyle glared sightlessly out of the window.

How bloody stupid could you get, he told himself savagely, but he could not stop shivering, the tremors barely perceptible except when, as now, the car was stationary.

Rebuffed, Bodie looked at the back of Cowley's head for inspiration.

"Is it the op?" he asked eventually, unable to come up with any other possibility.

Doyle's head swung round. "Why the fuck should you think that?" he hissed, the dark glasses not enough to mask the vitriol in his glare.

It was the op, Bodie realised, puzzled. Though why Ray had to make so much of it was anyone's guess. These days terrorists were two a penny; the only problem was remembering which faction the buggers supported. Besides, if anyone was entitled to be shocked, it was him. He unconsciously raised his hand to the back of his neck again, as if he could still feel the bite of the strap, the weight of which had felt as if it must drag his head off. Stupid, because he had carried far heavier loads. He had felt like Atlas, except that the weight of his world had been carried in the knowledge that he was loaded with enough explosive to take out half the airstrip, thanks to that tanked-up plane. That was one of the reasons he had run. He hadn't really believed he could outrun the signal of the remote control, but he hadn't wanted to take any of CI5 with him - or for Ray to see what would have been left after the explosion.

Bloody Doyle. The stupid bastard had come after him faster than a starving vampire after a haemophiliac. Ray had almost decapitated him, yanking off that haversack the way he had.

Silly sod. Anyone would think he'd wanted to get his own head blown off.

Or worse.

Bodie had seen the aftermath of explosions too often to have any illusions about the durability of the human frame; Doyle, too. They knew what the consequences of that kind of explosion would have been. The images persisted, growing bloodier by the second.

He and Ray had come _that_ close to raining down all over the airfield.

 _Christ._

It wasn't always a clean kill either. Bodie shied away from pursuing that thought. He planned to eat in the near future.

The Old Man should consider entering Ray for the Olympics, the sprint he had put in. That frenzied scrabbling made sense now. Ray had been furious all right. And terrified. For him.

Strange. It hadn't occurred to him until now what Ray had done for him. Or why. Taking it for granted.

They had been well-trained, but not so well-trained that it made you throw your life away on a lost cause. The key characteristic any good agent needed was an instinct for survival. Bodie didn't like the idea that Doyle might have lost his.

Even less did he like the idea of Doyle dying because of him.

Don't think about it, he told himself firmly. Way to the funny farm, that is. It's over, done with. Ray saved you.

Ray saved me.

Without conscious thought Bodie eased his arm around Doyle, sliding it behind the hollow of the taut spine until his fingers rested on the other side of the narrow hips; there was none of a woman's yielding softness but there was warmth, and muscle and bone. In fact there was more than warmth, there was heat. In fact Doyle's shirt was still damp, as if he hadn't stopped sweating. Odd, because the day wasn't that hot. Just about right, really, and that run would have been nothing to a man as fit as Ray. It belatedly dawned on Bodie that it hadn't been the effort which had kept his partner sweating but the adrenalin burst which had prompted that furious run. Ray, being the man he was, was probably going over and over it, reliving what could have happened.

Instinct taking over, Bodie gave his partner a light, casual hug, his hand moving in an indeterminate pattern over Doyle's side and flank.

Obviously about to snap some rejection, Doyle turned from the window and almost bumped into his partner's nose. Visibly disconcerted, he forgot whatever he had been about to say.

Comfortable with the intimacy of their position, Bodie's gaze travelled slowly over his partner's face. It would have been so easy to kiss that sulky mouth. To touch his lips to Doyle's, tongue tip teasing an entry to forbidden territory. To taste Ray Doyle. First that gorgeous mouth, then his -

Mildly disconcerted by the direction his thoughts were taking, Bodie tried to shrug them away but succeeded only in producing more heated images. Two bodies, Doyle gloriously naked as they frotted on the floor. He'd give Ray cause to sweat all right.

"I'm glad you're such a nippy mover," Bodie croaked, saying the first thing that came to mind in an attempt to obscure the images flooding his mind. "Wake me up when we finally reach HQ. I'll buy you a pint or three. Though you'll have to lend me the money. Werner's lot nicked mine."

His mouth pulled down at the corners, Doyle heard him out in silence as he concentrated on practising breathing evenly. It was futile to pretend he wasn't in shock at the realisation of how close he had come to losing Bodie. Encircled by the warmth and weight and scent of the other man, Doyle unclenched the hands he had not realised had formed fists and closed his eyes despite the shield provided by his dark glasses.

There was no point in resenting the fact Bodie had spotted the obvious. Besides, he had the perfect alibi; anyone would get the shakes after that close a brush with death.

Fucking cretin, trying to keep his distance. Those kind of heroics went out with Bulldog Drummond. About to assert his full recovery by telling Bodie as much, Doyle realised that, true to his word, the other man was asleep. It wouldn't take much to wake him. A quick shove in the ribs would do the trick. Continuing to relax despite his position squashed between the door and his partner, Doyle allowed Bodie's head, which had slumped on to his shoulder, to stay where it was. He tried not to notice the soft, even breathing which was scudding down his neck and making him shiver in a totally different way. He gave a resigned sigh, his grin wry when he saw the double take of the car driver who had pulled up in the next lane. He and Bodie made a lovely pair for anyone who cared to peer into the back of the car.

A short time later Doyle discovered his inability to move his head without waking his companion. For reasons he chose not to analyse it seemed less trouble to let Bodie sleep. That decided to his satisfaction, Doyle slid his dark glasses up onto the top of his head and relaxed back to enjoy the music issuing from Cowley's excellent in-car stereo system.

His eyelids growing heavy through Handel's ‘Water Music’, Doyle was fast asleep before Bach's ‘Concerto for Two Violins in D Minor’ had finished its first movement.

 

Both blinking like dormice disturbed from hibernation, Bodie and Doyle stood in the CI5 car park, the late afternoon sunshine in their faces.

"Sod waiting till the pubs open," said Doyle abruptly when he turned and saw the plum-shaped bruise on Bodie's right cheekbone. "We'll grab some beers and a takeaway and go back to my place. I want you where I can see you."

Bodie preened. "Most people do, my son." He was awake enough to dodge the poke aimed at his ribs.

 

Clean after too many hours in the same clothes, full of chicken and chips and Doyle's piece of Chocolate Fudge Cake as well as his own, Bodie was a contented man. By evening he had forgotten how the day had started, or his doubts that he would be allowed to see it out. Comfortably slumped on Doyle's sofa, with his feet propped on the scarred coffee table, he effortlessly crumpled his lager can in one hand before lobbing it into the waste bin on the far side of the room. The flight-path of the can left drops of liquid scattered over everything.

"Typical," sniffed Doyle. "Do you know when I last cleaned this place?"

Bodie waved a hand in disparagement. "Given your track record as a housekeeper, not since you moved in."

"Bloody cheek."

"Want to play noughts and crosses in the dust?" Bodie retaliated.

"Not right now," said Doyle peaceably as he passed Bodie another lager and returned his attention to the film that was on TV.

"Do you know what's going on?" he asked plaintively, a few minutes later.

"Not me, mate. I stopped reading the sub-titles half an hour ago. You said this was a Swedish film," Bodie added, turning the better to direct his accusing stare.

"It is. Well, the director is. I didn't know it was going to be art house."

"Sod art. I'd settle for a decent shot of her arse. Or his," Bodie added after a moment for reflection.

"His?" checked Doyle, ultra casual.

"Yeah." If Bodie sounded vague it was because his mind was elsewhere. As it had been for most of the evening. Passing glances at Doyle's mouth had turned to lingering looks before he gave up all pretence and frankly stared at it.

Looking wary, Doyle licked his lips to check that no food had become stuck in the corners of his mouth.

"What?" he asked, sounding edgy.

"What?" Blinking, Bodie refocused on the face only inches from his.

"What are you thinking about?" demanded Doyle, his patience near an end.

"Nothing much," lied Bodie, deciding life was too sweet and full of possibilities to tell the truth.

"No change there then. Did you hear about that obbo Jax was on last week?" An indolent, sensual sprawl across an astonishing amount of sofa for a narrow-hipped man, Doyle possessed a certain rumpled appeal. The fingers of one hand caressed the can of lager he held in a most distracting way.

"Interesting?" croaked Bodie.

"More strange really. It was just before dawn and - "

Busy watching his oblivious partner, Bodie drifted off in a haze of lustful speculations. Then a hand moved in a descriptive arc, signalling the end of the story. It was only when the rough-soft voice fell silent that Bodie realised he hadn't heard a word Doyle had said.

"What was that?" he mumbled.

"You weren't listening, were you?"

"Course I was."

Bodie had tried to pin-point his partner's allure, hoping that once he had identified it he would be immune to the lethal potential of that mysterious inner force which tugged at the senses, seducing them into believing what might be on offer. Doyle was strong and that was attractive in itself. Beneath the mass of contradictions, which sometimes seemed as if they must tear him apart, he possessed a bedrock of inner strength which Bodie suspected more than equalled his own. Doyle was a survivor because he'd had to be.

"Bollocks," retorted Doyle, beginning to feel edgy again under that heavy-lidded survey. "Look, save the cobblers. What are you thinking about?"

"Don't take on," said Bodie, throwing caution to the winds. "I was just wondering whether your mouth will be as good to kiss as it looks. You've got a very kissable mouth."

There was a short silence, pregnant with possibilities.

"You're drunk, mate," dismissed Doyle, refusing to rise to the bait. Only he knew that his pulse had started to thump in his ears. His mouth dry and his palms wet, his cock stirred as if it had heard someone call its name.

Bodie gave a faint sigh. "If it makes you feel better to think so. Though it would take more than this gnat's pee to - "

"It was all the corner shop had left," Doyle cut in. He would put up with a lot but he wasn't prepared to tolerate slurs regarding his palate.

"I forgive you."

"Just as well, isn't it, given that you want to kiss me. I mean, given that it's my mouth, I presume it was me you were thinking about kissing?" Doyle demanded, belligerent when Bodie raised his eyebrows in silent query at that spate of gibberish.

"Oh, yes," murmured Bodie, fervour behind his laidback tone. Because he couldn't stop himself, he ran his fingertip along Doyle's unshaven jaw line. "At least, it would be as good a place as any to start with."

Setting down his can of lager, he swivelled round and removed Doyle's from his, by now, nerveless clasp. Pausing when his partner continued to stare at him, Bodie patted Doyle just above the knee, before he allowed his hand to stray. A muscle tightened under his palm, then relaxed.

Bodie remembered to breathe. "You're not going to pretend you've never thought about this, are you?"

"No, but I'd decided not to do anything about it."

Bodie nodded his comprehension. By now he was so close that he had one hand on Doyle's shoulder, for support as much as to increase their intimacy. "What changed your mind?"

About to challenge that assertion, Doyle realised his thumb was circling Bodie's left nipple through the crumpled white shirt he wore. Abruptly all his nervousness slid away.

"I dunno," he said lazily. "Maybe I should drink gnat's pee more often. Or maybe I'm as mad as you are. Who cares? Let's just enjoy it while we can, eh?"

There was the sound of a zipper being unfastened.

Bodie grunted with surprise. "Ray?"

"The first time I kiss you, it isn't going to be on the mouth," Doyle told him. "Lift your arse so I can get you naked."

Bodie stayed exactly where he was. "Mouth first," he said firmly, his cupped hand protecting his sex.

Doyle found the gesture unexpectedly sexy and gave an audible swallow. "I wanted to do that," he confided in a low voice.

"We'll see."

"You're not turning coy on me, are you?" Doyle demanded, his eyes searching his partner's face.

"No, but I'm serious. We kiss first. Otherwise it's on a par with a fuck up against a wall in some seedy alley."

"I always wondered where you took your birds. Or was that just your fellas?"

"Not when I had a choice," said Bodie bluntly.

Doyle went very still.

Wrinkling his nose in annoyance with himself for breaking the mood, Bodie's mouth brushed his partner's, his lips exerting the lightest of pressure.

Doyle withdrew as if he had been stung.

"Ray?" His eyes watchful, Bodie was careful not to move; this was one of the rare times when he had absolutely no idea what the other man was going to do and there were a number of unattractive options. He repeated his partner's name when he gained no reply.

"I'm thinking," Doyle told him irritably.

Despite himself, Bodie had to grin. "Must you? Now, of all times." But he suspected he was wasting his breath.

Doyle wasn't even listening to him. "You'll always have a choice with me - about most things. But the next time some nutter straps fifteen pounds of explosive around your neck don't you dare run from me. D'you hear me?" Each word was reinforced with a prod to his left shoulder.

His expression softening, Bodie did not resist. "Yes, and I won't."

"You'd better not. You scared the crap out of me," muttered Doyle, before he pushed himself off the sofa and left the room.

"Bugger," said Bodie without heat. This a situation for which he had no experience, he stayed where he was.

He brightened when he heard the cistern flush, only to sag when Doyle reappeared in the doorway, still fully dressed, but with the addition of a belligerent scowl.

"Well don't just sit there. If we're going to have it away we may as well be comfortable. I've changed the sheets. You can have any side of the bed but the left- hand side."

"But I always sleep on the left-hand side," Bodie protested, awkwardness dropping away now there were important issues at stake.

"That's all right, you'll have a good ten minutes to adapt," Doyle told him with a grin that said everything would be all right. He switched off the lights in the living room after Bodie had dealt with the TV and video.

"Ten minutes?" queried Bodie, impressed.

"I wouldn't want to rush you," Doyle explained.

Standing in the bedroom doorway, one hand on Bodie's shoulder, he squeezed it gently before allowing his hand to drift down to rest over Bodie's heart.

"If memory serves, it's more fun if we take our clothes off," Bodie said.

Trying to take it slow so that he could savour the moment, Bodie unfastened the brown leather belt Doyle wore, then the fastener of his jeans so that he could drag Doyle's shirt free more easily.

"Mind the buttons," Doyle said huskily.

"I've got ‘em," Bodie assured him.

Working from the bottom upwards, the edges of the shirt fell open as each button was unfastened. The brush of Bodie's capable hands against his naked skin sent shivers of sensation straight to Doyle's cock and there was the strangest feeling in his chest.

"Wait," he begged roughly, cupping Bodie's face between his hands. His horizon filled by the flecks of colours which combined to produce the rich, dense blue of Bodie's eyes, Doyle's mouth hovered.

The kiss was chaste, but lingering. For the second kiss Doyle remembered to breathe beforehand, and that the kiss would be more fun with his mouth open. Bodie was happy to humour him. They crossed the room in half-steps; a kiss here, a piece of clothing discarded there, until they were finally naked. The edge of the mattress nudging the back of Doyle's knees, Bodie placed one hand on the nape of his neck and one knee on the mattress. Then he slowly eased them both onto the bed with a display of muscle control of which Macklin would have been proud.

"Trust you to expect to be on top," Doyle managed to say in between increasingly searching kisses.

Bodie leant up over him, blocking out the light. "Does it bother you?"

Doyle ruffled the dark hair tufting from his partner's armpit. "Not yet. But it might if you decide to stop," he said honestly, marvelling at the level of excitement the nudge of Bodie's cock against his thigh could produce.

"I'm against cruelty to dumb animals." Bodie's gaze travelled from Doyle's slightly flushed face to his feet and back again. "I've often wondered how noisy you might be."

"Yeah? Well, now's your chance to find out." Doyle's hands settled over his partner's backside, the contact light as yet because he was learning as he went. "If there's anything that doesn't appeal you'll have the sense to say, won't you?"

Bodie looked pained. "Give me a break."

"Just checking."

Trailing his mouth over a peaked brownish-rose nipple Bodie noted Doyle's lack of interest and moved to the navel. Doyle's head went back, a sharp, soft sound escaping him.

Bodie made a mental note of that just before he licked the length of Doyle's cock, from root to tip.

Doyle gasped, his cock twitching. He clenched his hands over the bedding when Bodie took him in, working him with an exploring tongue and the pressure of his lips. The arm which pinned Doyle across the belly gave Bodie an exciting illusion of control, while Doyle began a rhythmic little grunting noise which was turning Bodie on almost as much as the fact that he was giving Ray head. His mouth widened as he found a better angle to take in more of him. But when Doyle's hands settled over him, his thrusts deepening, Bodie gagged and had to let him go. Semen pattered over them both.

Even when he had his breath back, Doyle didn't say a word. Settling himself around his partner, he brought Bodie off in his artist's hands, then licked his softened cock clean afterwards. Holding each other loosely, stroking each other's skin, they lay together, too content for thought or speech.

Just as Bodie was beginning to drift off Doyle propped himself up on one elbow and gave a lazy stretch of sheer well-being before he sifted his nails through his pubic hair. Then he yawned widely, without troubling to cover his mouth.

"Next time you have a whim, I must pay more attention," he remarked, flippant because he did not know how else to cope with the confused jumble of his emotions.

"You paying attention to me? Fat chance," scoffed Bodie. He was still flat on his back, his left leg bent at the knee. His cropped hair ruffled, bruises inflicted by Werner's mob were stark on his skin. With his eyes closed, he looked younger than usual. Vulnerable.

His hand reaching out, Doyle stilled the caress he had been about to offer at the last moment. He wanted no more reminders of how easily his partner could be hurt - or in how many ways.

"You'd be surprised," he said, his voice gentling despite himself. "It isn't often you have this good an idea." Glancing at his partner's face, he paused, then shook his head with disbelief when he realised Bodie had fallen asleep.

Easing off the bed he rearranged the pillows so that they were within Bodie's reach if he should wake. Then he got back onto the mattress and drew the duvet up over them. After the last couple of days he wanted Bodie where he could keep an eye on him.

Besides, this way he had a better chance of stopping them from blowing things before they'd even moved out of first gear.

oOo

Working his way down his ‘In' tray, Cowley paused when he reached Doctor Ross's report, following the assessment of the A Squad. Looking hard-done-by, Cowley gave a weighty sigh before he took the plunge.

When he had read the first nine assessments, some of them twice, he pushed the report away with a look of disdain. The damn woman was sex-obsessed, he thought irritably. To listen to her anyone would imagine that his entire squad were involved in mass orgies. Take this latest nonsense: Anson and Susan; Ruth and Sally -

Good God.

He thought about it and dismissed the idea as preposterous. She'd have Bodie and Doyle pegged as lovers at this rate, he dismissed.

Five assessments later Cowley had his worst suspicions confirmed.

Gratified by this proof that the doctor was losing her grip, he tossed the report to one side and moved on to the always rewarding task of vetting expense forms submitted by optimistic agents.

oOo

Once he had got over his surprise that Doyle was not showing any sign of wanting to analyse their having sex on a regular basis to death, Bodie felt increasingly content with his lot. It was several weeks before it began to dawn on him that his life, working, social and sexual now revolved around his partner. Instead of spending the odd evening together, they were rarely apart. He couldn't remember the last time he had dated a bird. Disconcerted and edgy, Bodie lightly turned down Doyle's casual offer of a bed for the night. On his way home, Bodie stopped off at an off-licence to buy himself a six-pack of lager, then visited the take away two doors down to collect a curry. He had some serious thinking to do.

Expecting hearts and flowers from Ray Doyle was a lost cause. Not that Bodie wanted them, of course - or not exactly. But then he and Ray weren't exactly -

If they weren't lovers, what were they?

Shying away from considering that too closely, Bodie pushed away the last of his curry and took a hefty swig of lager. He was wary of trying to define exactly what it was that he did want; he wasn't convinced he was ready to receive the undivided attention of Ray Doyle.

Doyle expected a lot of his friends. Bodie didn't want to contemplate what standards might be expected of a long-term lover. Fidelity was an untested concept for Bodie, and he wasn't sure how he would take to it. What worried him most of all was the fact he was giving the idea house-room. Under no illusions, he knew that one or both of them would tire of the game, then it would be over - and Ray's affairs rarely ended tidily.

Bodie frowned at the far wall.

Damn it, he wasn't ‘an affair'. He was -

In trouble, he realised heavily, his brooding gaze on his outstretched feet. It was up to him to make sure that this time if - when, he reminded himself brutally - it ended, it would be handled differently, so that nothing was lost when they went back to having sex with birds - or anyone else who took their fancy. Resolute in his determination not to dwell on the idea of Doyle with another man, Bodie swilled liquid around in the can he held.

It couldn't hurt to back off a little; to keep some space - if only to pre-empt any moves on Doyle's part.

Blimey, that sounds a bit competitive, Bodie acknowledged, taking another swig of lager, warm from where he had held the dregs in the can for so long. Competitive or just simple self-defence, he conceded, before getting up to root through his drawers in search of his little black book of phone numbers.

The first number he tried was unobtainable. Satisfied that he had made his point with that bid for independence, Bodie had a couple more cans of lager and went to bed alone.

 

oOo

"You doing anything tonight?" asked Doyle. Slouched on the passenger seat, a trainered foot propped against the dashboard, he leant an elbow on the edge of the open car window as he squinted in the strong sunlight, wishing he could take off his jacket. It might be October, but the sun still had some heat in it.

Studying the confident figure, Bodie knew the answer expected of him and felt a prickle of irritation. Ruffled, the more so since he wanted to accept the invitation, he was determined to resist temptation. Put all your eggs in one emotional basket and all were left with when you dropped it was a mess, he reminded himself.

"Sorry, mate. I've got the evening booked," he said easily, surprised but gratified when he saw the flicker of disappointment which crossed Doyle's face.

"Anyone I should know?" he asked, putting his foot down so he could rummage in the dash for the pair of sun-glasses he remembered leaving there.

"I shouldn't think so." Bodie's gaze returned to the block of flats they were watching.

"How about tomorrow night?"

Hearing the poorly-concealed edge beneath the casual question, Bodie muffled a sigh. Typical Doyle, this was. Let someone else show signs of wanting to play with his toy and he was all sulky possessiveness.

"You're expecting me to get tired of her quickly, aren't you?"

"It could be the other way round, you know. It does happen," Doyle pointed out acidly.

"Not to me." Bodie was willing to swear he could hear Doyle grinding his back molars.

"You reckon?"

"If it happens, it's no big deal," shrugged Bodie.

Doyle's mouth tightened. "It's that easy, is it?"

"It is for me."

"What makes you immune from involvement?"

"Once bitten, twice shy." Recognising his slip too late, Bodie fell silent.

Taking off his dark glasses, Doyle twirled them by one metallic arm before he slipped them on his nose. Every instinct urged him to ferret out the identity of Bodie's secret love.

"I've noticed your oral tendencies in the past," he contented himself with saying, rewarded when he saw Bodie relax. Since becoming lovers they had become adept at avoiding potentially difficult moments. "Still, at least you know what to bite and how hard." Eyes narrowing, he tracked down a memory he had carefully tucked out of harm's way. "Was it Marrika?"

"Was what Marrika?" asked Bodie, who had lost the thread of this conversation.

"Was she your immunisation shot against involvement?" pursued Doyle with the single-mindedness which made him so good at his job, and such a pain to be around at times.

"Leave it."

Half-turning on his seat, Doyle's glare over the sunglasses perched halfway down his nose would have shrivelled a more sensitive soul.

"It's none of your business," added Bodie, as if his partner had spoken. Unwrapping a stick of chewing gum, he folded it in half and shoved it in his mouth. Jaws working vigorously, his fingers folded and refolded the silver wrapper before he flicked it out of the window, narrowly missing a passing cyclist. Abuse floated back down the road after her.

Leaning across the handbrake, Doyle hoicked the packet from his partner's jacket pocket and helped himself, before tossing what was left into Bodie's lap. Refusing to notice where the gum nestled so sweetly, he was chewing furiously as he slid further down the seat to consider the problem he had been set.

He could recognise Bodie in lust, but Bodie in love? It seemed as out of character as Bodie the anorexic. Frowning, it belatedly occurred to Doyle that he was jealous of the undeserving subject of Bodie's affection. He was used to having the undivided attention of his partner and he had no intention of playing second fiddle to anyone's memory, no matter how fragrant it might be. Even as a kid he had been no good at sharing. Time obviously hadn't improved matters.

Bodie was his. Besides, he didn't have anyone else. Not that it mattered.

Nervy at the implication, Doyle examined it. A number of flaws occurred to him. Falling for Bodie was not a good idea.

Falling, or fallen?

Doyle shot the deceptively somnolent figure at his side an incredulous look.

Ridiculous, he decided. There was as much chance of Bodie changing his lifestyle as seeing the Berlin wall come down. Anyway, he didn't want Bodie to change, never mind himself. He liked his life the way it was - most of the time. It might not be perfect - in fact it got a bit lonely sometimes; the times when Bodie wasn't around - but the idea that his only constant was Bodie was...true, he conceded, unhappy with the realisation of how vulnerable he had made himself without noticing.

Shit.

Doyle raised himself up on his seat and stuck his head out of the car window so he could spit his gum through the grating of the drain in the gutter. It was time he found some other interest besides who might be the love of Bodie's life. Subsiding once more, Doyle wedged one shoulder in the corner; the pose turned him slightly, enabling him to keep an eye on his companion without being too obvious about it.

"The sooner Rashid gets a move on, the better. I'm going numb sitting here," he complained into the silence, needing some distraction from his unsettling thoughts. Here he was, worrying about settling down, when he had already done exactly that, without even noticing.

"I wondered why you were wriggling so much." The boredom in Bodie's voice gave the statement the lie.

"I think I'll chance my arm with that new barmaid at The Pig and Whistle tonight." Doyle's irritation increased when Bodie nodded, as if in approval.

"This is going to be a meeting of intellects, I take it?"

"Who needs an intellect when they've got tits like hers," returned Doyle, crude because he was hoping for some reaction.

"You could be right. A fine, upstanding pair if ever I saw them. If she has a sister, let me know," instructed Bodie, sliding up in his seat when Rashid emerged on to the street to walk the twenty or so feet to his car. But all he did was take his jacket from the back seat and go back into his flat.

Sighing, both men tried to relax in the space that suddenly seemed uncomfortably small.

 

After two hours of betting which lamp post a stray dog would urinate against, boredom held them in an iron fist.

"If I get a chance to watch paint dry, I'm going to snatch it up. It has to be more exciting than this," groused Bodie.

"You do that, mate. I'm thinking about going off sick with ischial bursitis," said Doyle with gloom. He fidgeted on his seat again.

"If you're going off sick it had better be contagious. Stakeout duty is bad enough at the best of times, but I'll end up on a murder charge if I have to do it with some of the dick-heads on the squad."

"I've heard them speak kindly of you, too. Who have you got in mind in particular?"

"Turner, for one. What is ishial what's it?" Bodie added, in what he fondly supposed to be a casual tone.

Recognising the poorly hidden anxiety beneath the flippancy, Doyle came clean immediately. "A numb bum."

Delight filled Bodie's face. "You were planning to call in sick with a numb bum?" he said with admiring disbelief.

"That's right," lied Doyle. While given to flashes of unthinking bravery, he had never been suicidal.

"Cowley will eat you alive, mate."

"Then I'll have to rely on you to protect me, won't I?" said Doyle with tranquil confidence.

"Provided you see this stake-out through first," said Bodie, oozing virtue.

"You know, this act of yours would be so much more convincing if I couldn't remember all those mornings I've covered for you. And more, Cowley letting you get away with it, you jammy bugger." There was more admiration than rancour in Doyle's voice.

"I don't deserve you, mate."

"Oh, I know that. What's so bad about Turner?" Doyle thought to ask.

"I dunno," Bodie admitted. "But Murph was recommending him so strongly that I knew something must be up. Have you got a paper in the back? We could pick a few winners from the last couple of races."

oOo

Having identified the nature of his problem, one which only he could solve given Bodie's lack of interest in the idea, Doyle devoted his off-duty hours to looking for the elusive someone to fill the gaps in his emotional life. His standard of perfection predisposed to smooth-muscled, dark-haired ex-mercenaries with a penchant for irreverent remarks, lusty sex, junk food and keeping him alive, it was with no great surprise that Doyle discovered that barmaids, air hostesses and Ministry of Defence secretaries failed to meet his requirements. The fact they weren't so much fun in bed didn't help.

The mind-and arse-numbing surveillance of Rashid gave way to another surveillance of equal tedium. They had been working on it for nearly three weeks before it fell apart when Conroy spotted them. The chase taking them into a block of flats, Bodie saved his partner's life by shooting Conroy, and Doyle went back to chat up the eye-witness.

While Ann Holly sniped at him, nervy with shock, Doyle felt the impossible happen, noticing with a detached portion of his brain that she was as far removed from Bodie as it was possible to get. She was small-boned and dainty and strong-willed and he loved her self-possession, mental toughness and no-nonsense approach to life; she didn't mince her words, and held decided opinions about most things. And when she looked up at him from beneath that heavy fringe of hair his guts turned to water. For some inexplicable reason he found himself telling her things he had told no one else, listening to her in turn as they tried to fill in the gaps where the other had not been until so recently.

Interest in Bodie and the job receded further into the distance until Doyle thought of no one else when he was with her, and about little else when they were apart. After seventeen days, marriage to Ann seemed not only a viable but a gloriously desirable proposition. The problems came only when Doyle discovered that he couldn't balance what he needed with what he wanted. Torn in a way he wouldn't have believed possible, it was only when Cowley suspended him and he punched Bodie out that the realities of his new situation came home to Doyle. He could have Bodie, or he could have Ann; whether or not he stayed in CI5 he could never have both.

 

oOo

Ministers came and ministers went, but it was always irritating when the change involved the Home Secretary - particularly if you were just getting him trained into your way of thinking. For some reason Cowley could not fathom, any new minister always felt obliged to make ‘sweeping' changes in their first few weeks of office. Usually with the always emotive issues of ‘law and order', and far too often with measures that affected CI5's budget. There were times when he felt more like a book-keeper than the head of the best branch of the Intelligence service.

Wondering what the new incumbent had in mind, Cowley went off to Whitehall, prepared to defend what was his. Now he had got Doctor Ross trained to his satisfaction, he was damned if he was prepared to lose her without one hell of a fight.

 

oOo

Watching Ann's Mini disappear round the corner, Doyle walked out of the car park feeling numb. Whenever it mattered most, the quick-witted eloquence which kept him alive on the streets seemed to vanish, leaving him inarticulate and clumsy.

He had failed her.

The knowledge was slow to penetrate the adrenalin produced by the excitement of the hunt and capture of the drugs haul, along with Charles Holly. Doyle could dimly understand how it might have seemed to Ann. Even worse, he knew he wouldn't have chosen to act differently. He wouldn't risk compromising his ability to do his job, it meant too much. Like oil and water, Ann and CI5 would never have mixed.

He hadn't wanted to lose either of them.

Beginning to feel cold after his sleepless night, somehow it was no surprise to look round and see Bodie standing a few feet away, his matter of fact support making no demands and expecting no return. Nodding as if his partner had spoken, Doyle started walking again, his quick, easy stride giving the illusion that he had some destination in mind.

After a while Bodie told him that Cowley intended to finish the interrogation of Charles Holly himself. Some time later they discussed the difficulties of low-level flying in the crowded air-space of south-east England. Nothing to require much thought, but enough to keep difficult emotions at bay.

Doyle made no protest when Bodie steered him into the pub they were approaching.

Hunched over a vacant wooden table that wobbled with the least provocation, Doyle stared at the chipped varnish and traces of yesterday's lunch and wondered, without much interest, when this state of numbness would wear off.

Needing to offer something to eradicate the blank look on his partner's pinched face, which failed to hide the hurt bleeding from his eyes, Bodie bought them both a large scotch, and dropped a packet of salted peanuts on the table.

"Eat," he commanded, unfastening the packet.

Doyle obediently nibbled a single peanut. While Bodie watched, he ate the whole packet, one nut at a time, his drink untouched as he stared into space. Thirsty just from watching him, Bodie ordered a couple of pints. He was both relieved and surprised that Doyle wasn't busy trying to drown his sorrows, although he would have found that far easier to cope with. Still, there was no use expecting Ray to go for the easy option, he reminded himself.

"You must be thirsty after all that salt. Get this inside you. Ray?"

"What? Oh, thanks." Downing a third of his pint before he came up for air, Doyle licked moisture from his upper lip, took another mouthful and set down his glass to stare into space again.

"It's bloody weird," he announced some time later, breaking another lengthy silence.

"What is?"

"The fact you're the only person I can be myself with. A moronic mercenary." Doyle shook his head. "It must say something about me, I suppose."

A wry half-smile twisted Bodie's mouth as he studied the bowed head. Doyle had always possessed a winning way with words. "Moronic, eh?"

"It's what I used to think. In the beginning."

"You mean you changed your opinion?" As Bodie had expected, his sarcasm by-passed his partner.

"Of course. I didn't know you then. Not sure I know you now. In fact I'm not sure I know any bloody thing any more." Doyle noticed the glasses of whisky on the table. "Do you want those?"

"Not right now."

"Me neither. Thanks for... Thanks. I'll see you at HQ in the morning."

"Want to share a taxi home?" suggested Bodie, unwilling to entrust the public to Doyle in his present mood.

"No, I'm going for a walk. Clear my head. It's smoky in here. I'll see you."

This time Bodie felt obliged to accept the dismissal, although it didn't stop him from maintaining a discreet tail on his preoccupied partner until Doyle finally returned to his flat a couple of hours later. Heaving a resigned sigh when his long-empty stomach gave another indignant gurgle, Bodie loitered in the shadows until he was satisfied Doyle was settled for the night.

oOo

 

The following morning Doyle turned up at CI5 at the usual time, looking tired but otherwise much as usual. He met the witticisms of fellow-agents with a stony disdain, his mouth twisting with contempt for their attempts at humour. When those warning signs failed to deter one humourist, he reacted with the controlled venom which had made many a villain think twice. Those who knew him best steered clear of him, let alone the subject of girlfriends who invaded the hallowed portals of CI5. Even Cowley, after giving Doyle one brief, all-encompassing look, had left him alone, making no reference to his desertion of the previous day, or the breach of CI5's security.

As he and Doyle chased down one of the leads Charles Holly had given them Bodie realised how deep the hurt Ann had inflicted must have gone when Doyle made no reference to her. More tellingly, he showed no reaction whatsoever when Bodie brought her into the conversation. Grateful that Cowley had given them the sort of routine checking usually left to the older members of the B squad to deal with, Bodie kept an eye out for both of them. While Doyle gave the appearance of being on the ball, it was an illusion. He responded to all conversational overtures but the effort he made was hurtfully obvious. Bodie did the work of two and avoided any subject which touched on the personal; it was what he would have preferred, in similar circumstances, and all he could think of to do for his partner.

oOo

Cowley stared from the request to share accommodation, filled out in triplicate, which had been filed by Ruth and Sally, to Doctor Ross's face.

"You're not intending to say ‘I told you so', I trust?"

"Despite the temptation, no. As I've told you a number of times, I don't regard my work here as a competition with you."

"That's a pity," he murmured, staring at the form. "I suppose you don't have any bright ideas about how I sell the idea of homosexual members of CI5 to the new Home Secretary?"

"Why should you want to inform one now? You never have in the past," she returned as she crossed her legs.

Remarkably fine legs, Cowley noticed in passing. "There is that, of course," he allowed. "Will you take a drink with me, Doctor?"

This an honour she had not expected, Kate Ross almost missed a beat before she smiled. "Thank you, I should enjoy that."

Cowley's smile was genuine on this occasion. "Really? I got the impression you didn't care for malt whisky," he remarked quizzically.

Startled, she looked up with a smile which broadened as she took the glass of bitter lemon he was holding out to her.

"I don't know how you can stomach that muck, but each to their own poison. Your good health, Doctor."

"And yours. Please, call me Kate."

oOo

The news that Cowley and Doctor Ross were on first-name terms went around CI5 faster than the virus of the common cold in February. Bodie took pains to see to that because the gossip helped to turn people's attention away from Doyle.

oOo

Resetting the security locks to his partner's flat, Bodie turned to find his titular host propped against the wall, an expression of pensive introspection on his face.

"Guts on the about turn?" Bodie inquired, not without sympathy.

Under no illusions as to the instinct for self-preservation which had prompted the query - no one liked a drunk, least of all a sloppy drunk - Doyle gave him a look of irritation. "Just because I stink of scotch, it doesn't follow that I must be legless, you know."

"No, of course it doesn't," conceded Bodie mildly. "Still, you must be ready for bed. I'll see you settled before I push off."

"‘Ready for bed'? It's only twenty past nine."

"What's that got to do with you needing your beauty sleep? You'll feel like a new man in the morning."

"Maybe that's what's called for," Doyle said bleakly as he pushed himself from the support of the wall. Hands dug deep in the pockets of his white knitted jacket, he mooched through the living room to stand at the foot of the ornate spiral staircase.

"Don't take on," encouraged Bodie, trailing after him. "There's nothing wrong with you that plastic surgery and a personality transplant can't fix. Cheer up, mate. The world will seem a brighter place tomorrow."

He wished he felt as confident as he sounded. In the last few weeks he had watched Doyle travel from numb disbelief, through hurt confusion and anger to a tight-lipped endurance that left Bodie alternating between irritation with him and the urge to make everything all right.

It hurt to know that someone Doyle had known so briefly, if intensely, had the power to wound him like this. Not for the first time recently Bodie wished he had the right to cuddle close and obtain for Doyle his heart's desire - except that Bodie hadn't attained the stage of altruism where he wanted to see Ann Holly annex his partner before she started to make all his decisions for him. Or tried to, Bodie reflected with a trace of satisfaction. Showed how much she had known if she had thought Ray would put up with being managed - once he had caught on to what she was up to. Independence should be Ray's middle name.

Unconscious of any irony in the situation, Bodie steered his partner away from the stairs and back into the living-room. Collecting up the jacket and tie Doyle had shed, he eyed the tie thoughtfully as he allowed the silky fabric to dangle from his fingers.

"This is new."

Doyle gave him a curious look. "How can you tell?"

"It doesn't take a genius, given the fact you've only got one tie - at least half a dozen of mine, mind, but only one of your own."

Twitching it from Bodie's relaxed grasp, Doyle allowed the amber-patterned silk to slip through his fingers and drop to the floor.

"I bought it yesterday. Ann was always on at me to smarten up." His hands propped against his backside, his shoulders were so far back that his shoulder blades were in danger of clashing. "Maybe I should have bought a few more."

Giving him a pat on the chest, Bodie disappeared into the kitchen and rummaged through cupboards that were as familiar as his own for a clean glass. Filling it with water, he took it to where Doyle stood.

Absently taking it from him, Doyle downed the contents before beginning a restless prowl around the room.

His eyes bleak, one hand unconsciously clenching and unclenching on the soft back of the sofa, Bodie studied his partner. Because he knew he was unobserved, he took his time. Everything he saw was beautifully familiar, yet there was something about Doyle which meant he never tired of watching him. What could be seen of his profile wore a pensive frown; his respirations too fast, shadows played over the arching ribs and flat belly that was partially visible through the shirt dragged open where his hand curved around the top of his skull. Then Doyle slumped, his head bowing as he studied the carpet, the glass still loosely held in one graceful hand.

With some people you would be certain that the pose was studied, but Bodie had learnt that nothing was certain where Doyle was concerned, just as he was learning how much he had to discover. When they had become lovers he had assumed he knew all there was to know about the other man. Since then he had begun to realise that beneath the surface familiarity were depths he would never plumb. No one could ever know another human being totally, solitary confinement a life sentence.

The advent of Ann Holly into their lives had shocked Bodie from the muddle of uncertainty in which he had been living into realising he was in danger of losing it all. Even worse was the knowledge that he would have no one but himself to blame. Doyle wasn't famous for his patience, and no one thrived on rejection. How many times could you push someone away and expect them to come back for more? Bodie knew how he would feel had the tables been turned: if to all intents and purposes Ray had told him that he wasn't desired enough to make a bit of effort worthwhile. Monogamy and commitment weren't penalties imposed for loving someone.

I must have been mad, Bodie decided unhappily.

Acutely aware that he was under surveillance, Doyle wished Bodie would go home. He didn't want company tonight. Losing Ann was a disaster for which even Bodie could offer no solace.

"What happened tonight, Ray?" asked Bodie when the other man finally slumped on to the sofa, stuck out his legs and stared morosely at his feet. A trace of anxiety on his face, Bodie stood squarely in front of him. "I thought you were going to see Ann."

He saw no need to add that he had been worried enough to follow Doyle to her flat. Expecting the worst from this reunion, he had thought it would last longer than twenty minutes. Glimpsing the set mask of Doyle's face as he had hurried down the steps to his car, Bodie had taken care not to lose track of him. His vigilance paid off when Doyle ended up in their local, where Bodie had been able to make his presence known.

"I did see her," said Doyle flatly. "I interrupted her packing for New York. You'll be glad to hear it's over without any chance of a reconciliation, so you can stop pretending you liked her."

Bodie ignored the gibe; the truth was the last thing Doyle needed to hear. "Are you sure it's over? Every couple has the odd row."

Doyle gave a derisive snort. "Not us. We had ‘rational discussions' - which meant that I listened while she told me what was - is - wrong with me. It's a bloody long list. Worst of it was, I couldn't deny it, let alone pretend I could change. I don't want to. Or not in the ways she expected. Christ, she hasn't even gone and I'm already missing her - so bloody much." There was a mixture of desolation and irritation in the muttered confession, as if the admission had squeezed past Doyle's controls.

Bodie crouched in front of him, square-tipped fingers resting lightly on Doyle's legs, just above his knees. "It will get easier, sunshine. That's not much comfort now, I know. But don't flog yourself to death over the fact Ann couldn't take your job."

His eyes still closed, Doyle shook his head irritably. "It wasn't so much the job as me and the way I choose to do it. I've been thinking about this quite a bit recently. Not before time. It's funny how I needed to pretty up my motivations. When it comes right down to it you and me do the job for the same reason. The bottom line is that we enjoy it and we're good at what we do. Only we're not supposed to be hooked on adrenalin, or to enjoy the thrill of the hunt. So I prat on about wanting to give something back when all I'm really doing is what I enjoy doing."

A rare intensity on his face, Bodie leant forward, his grip on Doyle's legs tightening. "I don't care what Ann told you, there's more to you than a hired killer. You care. Sometimes too much."

"And sometimes not when I should," said Doyle, staring at his partner with an intensity which Bodie found uncomfortable. "Sometimes I wonder if my normal impulses are being worn down."

"Define ‘normal impulses'," squeaked Bodie in an improbable falsetto which was nothing like Doctor Ross's voice.

While he grinned, Doyle refused to be diverted. "You hide it quite well most of the time, but you're the soft touch of this teaming."

"There's nothing soft about me, mate," scoffed Bodie, feeling appallingly exposed under Doyle's unblinking regard. He could feel the warmth of Doyle's flesh against his hands, certain that Doyle must be able to tell that his hands were sweating as his imagination began to escape his control.

"Boasting again?" mocked Doyle, flicking Bodie's nose with the tip of his index finger. "Have it your own way."

"Chance would be a fine thing. I still maintain that sometimes you care too much. Don't beat yourself up for taking satisfaction in doing a job well."

"You think this is one of those times?" Doyle asked quietly. Unsurprised, he watched the other man's face close, shutting him out completely. It was a lonely feeling; one that even Ann hadn't been able to ease.

"Maybe," conceded Bodie tersely before he got to his feet. His physical control was such that the pressure he exerted on Doyle's legs did not increase, then it was gone, the contact broken completely.

"Besides, there'll be other birds. Isn't that what comes next? Off with the old, on with the new. You think I'm that fickle?" asked Doyle.

"No, just lonely," said Bodie, before he looked away.

"You really didn't like Ann, did you," recognised Doyle. He sounded amused rather than put out.

"I barely knew her," evaded Bodie shortly.

"Nor did I," said Doyle. The warmth where Bodie's hands had been was like a brand on his thighs. His sense of Bodie's touch slow to fade, he covered the place with his palms and looked at the man who had moved to the window. His eyes widening in shock, Doyle felt as if the ground beneath him had tilted, sliding him inexorably into a terrifying, bottomless pit.

Not Ann. Not for herself. How could she have seen that he didn't really need her when he hadn't?

Christ, not Ann at all, or not in any way that mattered. She had just been his refuge from the knowledge he could never have what he wanted most. She had been a socially acceptably substitute: not like Bodie at all. The knowledge, already subliminally known, left Doyle's skin prickling as instinct warned him of danger. But the warning came too late. Far, far too late.

You're cracking up, he told himself with conviction. You were going to marry Ann. You can't feel this way about Bodie. Christ, can't you even think the forbidden word? A four-letter word beginning with L.

Why the hell was it so hard to admit that what he felt for Bodie wasn't new, or mild, and that it didn't scare him any more? Or not so much, anyway.

"Ray? Are you going to faint on me?"

Bodie's voice seemed to be coming from some distance away; it sounded strange. If it had been anyone else Doyle would have said they sounded nervous. Recognising the worry on Bodie's face, he shook his head in denial. His skin felt clammy and his fingers were as cold as ice; and Bodie was still staring at him.

Be staring even more if you knew what I was thinking, Doyle thought grimly. His feet solidly planted on the floor, his jean-encased buttocks on the tweed-effect Draylon of the sofa, he stared at the carpet as if trying to memorise it.

He had been planning to marry Ann: Registry Office, semi-detached, and home for tea.

"Ray? Come on! Snap out of it, mate!"

Refocusing, Doyle waved a dismissive hand.

"I heard you. I'm all right."

"You don't look it," Bodie told him frankly, caustic now Doyle was back in the land of the living. "You virtually turned green. You should know better than to mix your drinks."

"I do and I didn't. I keep telling you, despite how it might look - smell, I should say - I'm not drunk. I've only had one pint all evening. I stink of booze because some cack-handed kid tripped while he was holding a tray of drinks. I caught some of the fall-out, that's all." Finally noticing Bodie's position, Doyle gave a slow smile.

"While it's very gratifying seeing you acknowledge my undoubted worth, wouldn't you be more comfortable sitting down rather than kneeling at my feet?"

A rare expression of self-consciousness crossing his face, Bodie was not given a chance to move.

"You'll get a crick in your neck." Doyle tugged gently on the arm he held until the other man sat next to him.

Looking skittish, Bodie studied the tips of his shoes. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"So do I," said Doyle in a heartfelt tone. Needing a lifeline to see him through this, he took Bodie's hand in a grasp that was clammy with nerves.

"I think you've lost your marbles. One drink or not, you must be half-cut," snapped Bodie, trying to pull his hand free.

"Not quite." Doyle instantly relaxed his grip.

Bodie made no further attempt to escape but he was as tense as if his fingers were curled around a scorpion rather than his partner.

Battered by the mixed emotions of the day, Doyle closed his eyes. He wondered where all the _joie de vivre_ which was supposed to accompany the happy discovery that you'd found your true love had got to. Slowly, he began to relax as he became aware of the comforting warmth of Bodie down his left side.

"Do you mind telling me why we're sitting here, holding hands in the gloaming?" Bodie demanded.

"Because... Because," repeated Doyle lamely.

Raising their linked hands, he took his time to study them, noting the different skin tones and textures, the shape of fingernails and the quantity and patterning of hair. He felt obscurely glad that the backs of Bodie's hands weren't overly hairy. Hirsute hands not a subject he had ever considered before, now they assumed considerable importance.

Just staring at Bodie's hands could turn him on. Just thinking about what those hands had done for him. To him. Might do again if he got this right. He was careful not to think about what they might do if he got it wrong. Besides, Bodie wouldn't hurt him. Not deliberately.

Resting their joined hands on his knee, Doyle relaxed his grasp and gave Bodie the freedom of choice. With no great surprise he felt the other man slide his fingers free.

Wandering round the room, Bodie shot edgy glances his partner's way when he thought they wouldn't be noticed.

"Have I missed something?" he finally asked, his back to Doyle.

"No, I did that some time ago. Before I met Ann, in fact." One hand clenched over the edge of the back of the sofa, Doyle forced himself to continue. "It finally dawned on me that I only had one person in my life who really mattered to me - you. It scared me to death, particularly when I realised that us being lovers - having sex - didn't change anything for you. So I tried to widen the field."

There was a lengthy silence before Bodie turned back to him but his expression was inscrutable. "Are you saying Ann was a substitute for me?"

"In a manner of speaking." Pulling at his ear lobe, Doyle was no longer sure what he meant; he just knew that, as usual, he seemed to have said the wrong thing at the wrong time.

"I was right," said Bodie with conviction. "You have lost your marbles. Of all the bloody silly stunts to pull, this tops all of them. What did you mean by ‘mattered'?"

"Love. I think."

"You _think_?"

"How the hell should I know?" returned Doyle, irritable as his nerve failed him. "It only just dawned on me. I'm still working things out myself - and getting precious little help from you, I might add. It's not like I'm doing this to wind you up, you know. If Ann hadn't given me the elbow, I would have married her. And you would have let me do it."

Bodie began to laugh despite himself. "This is so typical - you blaming me for your cock-ups," he said, Doyle's expression making him want to laugh all over again. "I've got more sense than to step between a man and his bird."

"Even when you want that man for yourself? Because you did. Want me, I mean."

"Even then." Amusement fading, Bodie stared at the other man with something like resentment.

Doyle went cold. He had thought it must be over when Bodie had gone back to his string of birds, but it was no comfort to hear it confirmed.

"Right," he said numbly, stretching out his legs to reassure himself that he was still capable of moving. He would have to make it easy for Bodie, he reminded himself. While their partnership was rock-solid, even the sturdiest foundations could be undermined. A clean break would obviously be healthiest in the long run, but he didn't have the courage to make that. He would just have to do the best he could.

"Did you mean it - about not really wanting Ann, I mean?" Bodie asked into the silence.

"I meant all of it. I can see it's not clever timing. Not that it's sudden. I just didn't acknowledge it until now. I wasn't expecting it myself, you see. It just sort of swept over me. I won't let it be a problem."

"Oh. How you going to manage that, then?"

Shrugging, Doyle studied his booted feet; he had little defence against mockery at the best of times, and this was far from being one of those.

"Men have died and worms eaten them and all that." His beautiful hands decorated the air in a fleeting gesture expressive of emptiness.

"You're not exactly giving me the hard sell, are you."

Doyle flinched, then moved as far away as he could get. "Don't joke about this. Not this," he said jerkily, his protective layers thinning by the second.

"Who's joking? It wasn't until it was almost too late that I realised what you mean to me."

A mixture of hope and dread on his face, Doyle slowly swivelled round to look up at Bodie. "I couldn't go back to what we had before," he said flatly. "No good pretending I can. I need - " he gave a helpless shrug " - more."

"No, as per usual you want the impossible," Bodie told him tolerantly. "Are you saying you're finally ready to settle down?"

"Yes, I suppose I am," recognised Doyle. He sounded surprised. "I don't know why now, or why I'm so certain. I'm not usually. But I want someone of my own. Someone I can come home to. Someone to share the boring times with as well as the good and the bad. I need you to need me the way I need you. I want you to want me. I know," he grated, spinning away, "fucking unrealistic. But that's what I want us to try for."

Bodie hadn't moved. "Was that a proposal?" While the question was flippant, his tone was not.

Doyle didn't dare give himself time to think in case terror swamped him. "Yes."

"Then I accept," said Bodie placidly.

"What?" Doyle's voice cracked with nerves.

"You heard me, I accept."

When more than two and half minutes went by without Doyle's slackened jaw moving Bodie gave a reluctant grin and waited. Doyle's continued silence eroded his confidence and a set blankness stole over his face as he wondered if Doyle had been listening. He repeated his announcement in a voice sharpened by nerves.

"I heard you the first time," said Doyle in an absent tone. It did not occur to him to look up.

"Well, there's no need to worry about you overwhelming me with joy, is there?" Leaden, Bodie found it impossible to inject the necessary flippancy into his voice.

Doyle gave an audible swallow. "I don't know what to do."

"Give me a break."

"I'm not bloody well joking," snapped Doyle in a goaded tone. "Christ, even my timing isn't that bad."

"You're really serious?" Bodie checked, but his expression was lighting by the second, a small flame in the back of his eyes. "Straight up?"

Doyle gave a snort of derision. "In the circumstances ‘straight' has bugger all to do with it. I mean - " he paused to give the love of his life an irritable look " - this is important. What if I fuck it up?"

Bodie perched on the sofa arm next to where Doyle sat. "I won't let you," he assured him with a serene and nauseating confidence.

Unimpressed, Doyle's eyebrows rose. "Oh, that makes me feel a whole lot better, that does. And why are you looking at me like that?" he added edgily.

"Jesus, Ray, are you always this romantic?" complained Bodie, his face alight with laughter. "I'm anticipating kissing you, you prat. Then I'm going to take you to bed and we're going to love each other."

"Oh." Pupils visibly dilating as he gazed at Bodie's well-shaped mouth, Doyle made a token show of independence. "What about in the morning?"

"I'll still love you. And I'll love waking up to you. I'll enjoy that. Our first time."

Doyle frowned. "Not our first."

"Trust me, it'll be our first," Bodie promised him.

Making a careful fist in the silky curls, he leant down and kissed Doyle until lack of oxygen made him dizzy. Disorientated and heavy-eyed, he sluggishly raised his hips when he realised Doyle was trying to haul down his cords.

"Thought I was going to love you," Bodie said, cooperating as his polo neck was drawn over his head. His tongue felt too thick for his mouth.

"You are," Doyle assured him, seconds before his mouth found Bodie's and his palm rubbed the other man's beginning-to-thicken cock.

By the time they made it into bed they were beyond caring who had the left-hand side.

 

Waking in slow stages, Doyle gave a smile of immense satisfaction when he saw Bodie asleep next to him.

At last, he thought, his fingers resting on the back of Bodie's head. Some things were worth waiting for. He couldn't bear to think how close they had come to losing it all. Some times you just had to go with the flow rather than trying to reason everything out and provide for every contingency. It couldn't be done. Far better to lie back and enjoy it. But, God, it was scary. At first. Until he had realised Bodie felt the same way.

"You're looking very pleased with yourself," mumbled Bodie.

"Going to change all that, are you?" inquired Doyle, moving to accommodate the hand searching him out. "I could get to like this," he confided, several minutes later, Bodie poised over him.

"That's lucky because - "

Interrupted by the ringing telephone, Bodie began to swear when he heard Doyle's one-liners of assent.

"If we had a quid for every time being on stand-by got us called in," grumbled Bodie as he dressed with dispatch. "We need some time together."

"We'll survive without them," Doyle told him, and it had the sound of a vow.

"More fun with them though," said Bodie as they headed out the door.

"Hang on," said Doyle, holding him back and nudging the door shut.

"Wha - ?"

The kiss was the kind that lingered in the memory, but it was a long way behind the expression in Doyle's eyes.

The memory of that kept Bodie smiling through rain, a rooftop chase, an undignified tumble and several hours of boring paperwork.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Written November 1996
> 
>  
> 
> First published in ‘Alter Egos 2'
> 
> Republished ‘HG Collected 2'


End file.
